m 


L  I  B  R.ARY 

OF  THL 

UN  IVLR.5ITY 

or    ILLINOIS 

823 


NOTICE:  Return  or  renew  all  Library  Materials!  The  Minimum  Fee  for 
each  Lost  Book  is  $50.00. 

The  person  charging  this  material  is  responsible  for 
its  return  to  the  library  from  which  it  was  withdrawn 
on  or  before  the  Latest  Date  stamped  below. 

Theft,  mutilation,  and  underlining  of  books  are  reasons  for  discipli- 
nary action  and  may  result  in  dismissal  from  the  University. 
To  renew  call  Telephone  Center,  333-8400 

UNIVERSITY    OF    ILLINOIS     LIBRARY    AT     URBANA-CHAMPAIGN 


JAN  0 


L161— O-1096 


THE    WHITE    ROSE. 


VOL.  I. 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2010  with  funding  from 

University  of  Illinois  Urbana-Champaign 


http://www.archive.org/details/whiterose01whyte 


THE  WHITE  ROSE 


G.  J.  TVHYTE  MELVILLE, 

AUTHOR  OF 
'  CEBISE,"  "  THE  GLADIATORS,"  "  THE  BBOOKES  OF  BEIDLEMERE,"  ETC. 


ly  THREE  VOLUMES. 
YOL.  I. 


LONDON: 

CHAPMAN  AND  HALL,  193,  PICCADILLY. 

1868. 

[  The  right  of  Translation  is  reserved.] 


7' 


LONDON : 
PRINTED  BY  VIETUE  AND    CO., 
CITY  EGAD. 


V.  I 


^  CONTENTS. 


:^ 


CHAPTEE  I. 

PAGE 

The  Ma^'  ix  the  Steeet 1 


C^  CHAPTEE  II. 

C^  The  Yotjxg  Idea 16 

CHAPTEE  III. 

NORAH 27 


^                                           CHAPTEE  lY. 
s^       Mr.  Ya^tdeletjr 40 


i 


CHAPTEE  V. 

A 

^  The  Maid  of  the  Mill 54 

^  CHAPTEE  YI. 

■^         Grinding 63 


VI  CONTENTS. 


CHAPTEE  YII. 

PAGE 

A  Cat's-paw 79 


CHAPTEE  VIII. 
Hot  Chestnuts 94 

CHAPTEE  IX. 
A  Passage  of  Arms 105 

CHAPTEE  X. 
Ax  Appotn-tment 117 

CHAPTEE  XI. 
A  Disappointment 132 

CHAPTEE  XII. 
Eeaction .148 

CHAPTEE  XIII. 
Goose-step 156 

CHAPTEE  XIV. 
"Weaeing  the  G-eeen 173 


CONTENTS.  vn 


CHAPTEE  XY. 

PAGE 

The  White  Witch  " 184 


CHAPTEE  XVI. 
Pious  .a&XEAS 197 

CHAPTEE  xyn. 

The  Giels  we  leave  behlnd  rs         .        .        .213 

CHAPTEE  XYIII. 
Foe  Better 224 

CHAPTEE  XIX. 
For  Worse 239 

CHAPTEE  XX. 
The  HoxEYiioox 253 


THE    WHITE    ROSE, 


CHAPTER  I. 


THE    MAN    IN   THE    STREET. 


It  was  dawn — dawn  liere  in  London,  almost  as 
cool  and  clear  as  in  the  pleasant  country,  where  the 
bird  was  waking  in  the  garden  and  the  tall  poplar 
stirred  and  quivered  in  the  morning  breeze.  It 
was  dawn  on  the  bold  outline  of  the  inland  hills, 
dawn  on  the  dreary  level  of  the  deep,  dark  sea. 
Night  after  night  daylight  returns  to  nature,  as 
sorrow  after  sorrow  hope  comes  back  to  man.  Even 
in  the  hospital — say  St.  George's  Hospital,  for  that 
was  nearest  to  where  I  stood — the  bright-eyed 
morning  stole  in  to  greet  a  score  of  sufferers,  who 
had  longed  for  her  coming  through  wearj^  hours  of 
pain,  to  welcome  her  arrival  as  nurse,  physician, 
VOL.   t.  B 


2  THE  WHITE  ROSE. 

frieiid;  and  although,  on  one  dead,  up-turned  face 
the  grey  light  shed  a  greyer,  ghastlier  gleam — 
what  then  ? — a  spirit  had  but  broken  loose  from 
last  night's  darkness,  and  departed  in  the  tremble 
of  twilight  for  the  land  beyond  the  grave,  the  place 
of  everlasting  day.  It  was  dawn,  too,  in  the  long 
perspective  of  the  silent  streets — silent  none  the 
less  for  the  booted  tramp  of  an  occasional  policeman, 
for  the  rumble  of  a  belated  cab,  for  shifting  figures 
flitting  like  ghosts  round  distant  corners — squalid, 
restless,  degraded,  and  covered  far  too  scantily 
with  aught  but  shame.  And  it  was  dawn  in  the 
principal  rooms  of  one  of  the  best  houses  in 
London,  filled  with  the  great  ones  of  the  earth,  or 
as  they  term  themselves,  somewhat  presumptuously, 
with  "none  but  the  best  people" — a  dawn  less 
welcome  here  than  in  deep  copse  or  breezy  up- 
land, than  on  the  wide,  lone  sea,  in  the  hushed 
ward  of  the  hospital,  or  among  the  narrow  streets — 
greeted,  indeed,  as  a  deliverer  only  by  a  few  out- 
wearied  chaperones,  and  perhaps  by  the  light- 
fingered  musicians  who  had  still  an  endless  cotillon 
to  work  through  before  they  could  cover  up  their 
instruments  and  go  to  bed. 

I  had  been  down  to  supper — ^that  is  to  say,  I  had 


THE   MAN  IN   THE   STREET.  6 

stretched  my  arm  over  a  white  shoulder  for  half-a- 
tumbler  of  champagne  and  seltzer- water  (the  latter 
good  of  its  kind),  and  had  absorbed  most  of  it  in 
my  glove,  whilst  I  ministered  at  the  same  time  to 
the  wants  of  a  stately  dame  whom  I  remember — 
ah !  so  long  ago — the  slimmest  and  the  lightest 
mover  that  ever  turned  a  partner's  head  in  a  waltz 
(we  did  not  call  them  round  dances  then),  and  whom 
I  now  contemplate,  when  we  meet,  with  mingled 
feelings  of  respect,  astonishment,  and  gratitude  for 
deliverance  from  possible  calamity.  She  was  not 
satisfied  with  champagne  and  seltzer-water,  far 
from  it — though  she  drank  that  mixture  with  grati- 
fication too ;  but  wisely  restored  vitaKty  after  the 
fatigues  of  the  evening  by  a  substantial  supper,  and 
I  am  not  sure  but  that  she  had  earned  her  provender 
fairly  enough. 

"  You  must  take  me  back  now,  please, '^  she  said, 
"  or  the  girls  won't  know  where  to  find  me  !  " 

I  wonder  whether  she  thought  of  the  time  when 
her  mamma  didn't  know  where  to  find  ws,  and  the 
scolding  she  got  in  the  carriage  going  home.  I 
was  sure  she  must  have  had  it  by  the  black  looks 
and  stifi"  bow  I  myself  encountered  in  the  Park  next 
day. 


4  THE  WHITE   ROSE. 

Dear  !  dear  !  was  there  ever  any  state  of  society 
in  whicli  youthful  aflPections,  fancies,  attacliments,  call 
them  what  you  will,  were  of  a  material  to  withstand 
the  wear  of  a  little  time,  a  little  absence,  a  good 
deal  of  amusement  bordering  on  dissipation  ?  Would 
such  an  Arcadia  be  pleasant  or  wearisome,  or  is  it 
simply  impossible  ?  Alas  !  I  know  not ;  but  as  far 
as  my  own  observation  goes,  you  may  talk  of  your 
first  love  as  poetically  as  you  please — it's  your  last 
love  that  comes  in  and  makes  a  clean  sweep  of  every- 
thing on  the  board. 

I  need  scarcely  observe,  this  is  not  the  rejnark 
I  made  as  we  laboured  heavily  up  Lady  Billesdon's 
staircase,  and  parted  at  a  doorway  crowded  to 
suffocation  half-an-hour  ago,  but  affording  fair 
ingress  and  egress  now,  for  the  company  were 
departing  ;  hoarse  voices  announced  that  carriages 
"  stopped  the  way,"  or  their  owners  were  "  coming 
out ;"  while  the  linkman,  with  a  benevolence  beyond 
all  praise,  hoped  "  her  Grace  had  not  forgotten 
him,"  and  that  ''  the  young  ladies  enjoyed  their 
baU  !  " 

It  was  time  for  the  young  ladies  to  go,  unless 
perhaps  they  were  very  young  indeed,  quite  in  their 
first  season.     Through  the  open  squares  of  the  ball- 


THE  MAN   IN   THE   STREET.  D 

room  windows  a  grey  gap  in  the  sky,  already 
tinged  with,  blue,  was  eyery  moment  widening  into 
day.  Lamps,  and  bright  ey^s  too,  began  to  wear  a 
faded  lustre,  while  the  pale  morning  Kght,  creeping 
along  the  passages  and  staircase,  seemed  to  inyade 
the  company,  dancers  and  all,  like  some  merciless 
epidemic  from  which  there  was  no  escape.  Perhaps 
this  might  account  for  much  of  the  hooding, 
wrapping-up,  and  general  hurry  of  departure. 

To  a  majority  of  the  performers,  besides  those  who 
have  been  fulfilling  a  duty  and  are  glad  it  is  oyer,  I 
am  not  sure  but  that  this  same  going  away  con- 
stitutes the  pleasantest  part  of  a  ball.  In  a  gather- 
ing of  which  amusement  is  the  ostensible  object,  it 
is  strange  how  many  of  the  stronger  and  more 
painful  feelings  of  our  nature  can  be  aroused  by 
causes  apparently  trivial  in  themselves,  but  often 
leading  to  unlooked-for  results.  How  many  a 
formal  greeting  masks  a  heart  that  thrills,  and  a 
pulse  that  leaps,  to  the  tone  of  somebody's  voice,  or 
the  rustle  of  somebody's  dress.  How  many  a  care- 
less inquiry,  being  interpreted,  signifies  a  volume  of 
protestation  or  a  torrent  of  reproach.  "With  what 
electric  speed  can  eager  eyes,  from  distant  comers, 
flash   the   expected   telegram   along    the   wires    of 


b  THE  WHITE   ROSE. 

mutual  intelligence,  through  a  hundred  unconscious 
bystanders,  and  make  two  people  happy  who  have 
not  exchanged  one  syllable  in  speech.  There  is  no 
end  to  ''  the  hopes  and  fears  that  shake  a  single 
ball ;"  but  it  is  when  the  ball  is  nearly  over,  and 
the  cloaking  for  departure  begins,  that  the  hopes 
assume  a  tangible  form  and  the  fears  are  satisfac- 
torily dispelled.  It  is  so  easy  to  explain  in  low, 
pleading  whispers  why  such  a  dance  was  refused,  or 
such  a  cavalier  preferred  under  the  frown  of  autho- 
rity, or  in  fear  of  the  convenances  ;  so  pleasant  to  lean 
on  a  strong  arm,  in  a  nook  not  only  sheltered  from 
doorway  draughts  but  a  little  apart  from  the  stream 
of  company,  while  a  kind  hand  adjusts  the  folds  of 
the  burnous  with  tender  care,  to  be  rewarded  by  a 
hasty  touch,  a  gentle  pressure,  perhaps  a  flower, 
none  the  less  prized  that  it  has  outlived  its  bloom. 
How  precious  are  such  moments,  and  how  fleeting  ! 
Happy  indeed  if  protracted  ever  so  little  by  the 
fortunate  coincidence  of  a  footman  from  the  country, 
a  coachman  fast  asleep  on  his  box,  and  a  carriage 
that  never  comes  till  long  after  it  has  been  called  ! 

I  stood  at  the  top  of  Lady  Billesdon's  staircase 
and  watched  the  usual  "  business  "  with  an  attention 
partly  flagging  from  weariness,  partly  diverted  in 


THE  MAN   IN   THE   STREET.  7 

the  contemplation  of  my  hostess  herself,  whose  pluck 
and  endurance,  while  they  would  have  done  honour  to 
the  youngest  Guardsman  present,  were  no  less  extra- 
ordinary than  admirable  in  an  infirm  old  lady  of  three- 
score. Without  counting  a  dinner-party  (to  meet 
Eoyalty)  she  had  been  "  under  arms,"  so  to  speak, 
for  more  than  five  hours,  erect  at  the  doorway  of 
her  own  ball-room,  greeting  her  guests,  one  by  one, 
as  they  arrived,  with  unflagging  cordiality,  never 
missing  the  bow,  the  hand- shake,  nor  the  '^  right 
thing "  said  to  each.  On  her  had  devolved  the 
ordering,  the  arrangements,  the  whole  responsibility 
of  the  entertainment,  the  invitations  accorded — 
above  all,  the  invitations  denied !  And  now  she 
stood  before  me,  that  great  and  good  woman,  with- 
out a  quiver  of  fatigue  in  her  eyelids,  an  additional 
line  of  care  on  her  quiet  matronly  brow. 

It  was  wonderful !  It  must  have  been  something 
more  than  enthusiasm  that  kept  her  up,  something 
of  that  stern  sense  of  duty  which  fix:ed  the  Roman 
soldier  at  his  post  when  the  boiling  deluge  swept  a 
whole  population  before  it,  and  engulphed  pleasant, 
wicked  Pompeii  in  a  sea  of  fire.  But  it  was  her 
own  kind  heart  that  prompted  the  hope  I  had  been 
amused,  and  the  pleasant  "  Good-night  "  with  which 


8  THE  WHITE  ROSE. 

she  repKed  to  my  farewell  bow  and  sincere  congra- 
tulations (for  she  was  an  old  friend)  on  the  success  of 
her  ball. 

Lady  Billesdon,  and  those  like  her  who  give  large 
entertainments,  at  endless  trouble  and  expense,  for 
the  amusement  of  their  friends,  deserve  more  grati- 
tude from  the  charming  young  people  of  both  sexes 
who  constitute  the  rising  generation  of  society  in 
London  than  these  are  inclined  to  admit.  It  is 
not  to  be  supposed  that  an  elderly  lady  of  orderly 
habits,  even  with  daughters  to  marry,  can  derive 
much  enjo}Tnent  from  a  function  which  turns  her 
nice  house  out  at  windows,  and  keeps  her  weary  self 
a-foot  and  waking  till  six  o'clock  in  the  morning ; 
but  if  people  whose  day  for  dancing  has  gone  by 
did  not  thus  sacrifice  their  comfort  and  convenience 
to  the  pleasures  of  their  juniors,  I  will  only  ask  the 
latter  to  picture  to  themselves  what  a  dreary  waste 
would  be  the  London  season,  what  a  desolate  round 
of  recurring  penance  would  seem  parks,  shoppings, 
operas,  and  those  eternal  dinners,  unrelieved  by  a 
single  ball ! 

Some  such  reflections  as  these  so  engrossed  my 
attention  as  I  went  do^oi  stairs,  mechanically  finger- 
ing the  latch-key  in  my  waistcoat  pocket,  that  I  am 


THE  MAN   IN   THE   STREET.  9 

ashamed  to  say  I  inadvertently  trod  on  the  dress  of 
a  lady  in  front  of  me,  and  was  only  made  aware 
of  my  awkwardness  when  she  turned  her  head,  and 
with  a  half-shy,  half-formal  bow  accosted  me  by 
name. 

"  It  is  a  long  time  since  we  have  met,"  she  said, 
detaching  herself  for  a  moment  from  the  arm  of  a 
good-looking  man  who  was  taking  her  to  her  car- 
riage, while  she  put  her  hand  out,  and  added,  "  but 
I  hope  you  have  not  quite  forgotten  me." 

Forgotten  her  ?  a  likely  thing,  indeed,  that  any 
man  between  sixteen  and  sixty,  who  had  ever 
known  Leonora  "Welby,  should  forget  her  while  he 
retained  his  senses  !  I  had  not  presence  of  mind  to 
exclaim,  as  a  good-for-nothing  friend  of  mine 
always  does  on  such  occasions,  "  I  wish  I  could !" 
but,  reflecting  that  I  had  been  three  hours  in  the 
same  house  without  recognising  her,  I  bowed  over 
the  bracelet  on  her  white  arm,  stupefied,  and  when 
I  recovered  my  senses,  she  had  reached  the  cloak- 
room, and  disappeared. 

"  'Gad,  how  well  she  looks  to-night ! "  said  a 
hoarse  voice  behind  me  ;  "  none  of  the  young  ones 
can  touch  her  even  now.  It's  not  the  same  form 
you  see — not  the  same  form." 


10  THE  WHITE  ROSE. 

"  She  ?  who  ?  "  I  exclaimed ;  for  my  wits  were 
still  wool-gathering. 

"  Who  ?  why  Mrs.  Yandeleur  !  "  was  the  reply. 
"  You  needn't  swagger  as  if  you  didn't  know  her, 
when  she  turned  round  on  purpose  to  shake  hands 
with  3^ou, — a  thing  I  haven't  seen  her  do  for  half-a- 
dozen  men  this  season.  I  am  a  good  bit  over  fifty, 
my  boy;  and  till  I've  bred  a  horse  that  can  win 
the  Derby,  I  don't  mean  to  turn  my  attention  to 
anything  else ;  but  I  can  tell  you,  if  she  did  as 
much  for  me  twice  in  a  week,  I  shouldn't  know 
whether  I  was  standing  on  my  grey  head  or  my 
gouty  heels.  She's  a  witch — that's  what  she  is : 
and  you  and  I  are  old  enough  to  keep  out  of  harm's 
way.     Good-night !" 

Old  Cotherstone  was  right.  She  was  a  witch  ;  but 
how  different  from,  and  oh !  how  infinitely  more 
dangerous  than,  the  witches  our  forefathers  used  to 
gag,  and  drown,  and  burn,  without  remorse.  She 
was  coming  out  of  the  cloak-room  again,  still 
haunted  by  that  good-looking  young  gentleman, 
who  was  probably  over  head  and  ears  in  love  with 
her,  and  I  could  stare  at  her  without  rudeness  now, 
from  my  post  of  observation  on  the  landing.  Yes, 
it  was  no  wonder  I  had  not  recognised  her  ;  though 


THE  MAN   IN   THE   STREET.  11 

the  dark  pencilled  eyebrows  and  the  deep-fringed 
eyes  were  JSTorah  Welby's,  it  was  hardly  possible  to 
beKeve  that  this  high-bred,  queenly,  beautiful 
woman,  could  be  the  laughing,  light-hearted  girl  I 
remembered  in  her  father's  parsonage  some  ten  or 
fifteen  years  ago. 

She  was  no  witch  then.  She  was  a  splendid  en- 
chantress now.  There  was  magic  in  the  gleam  that 
tinged  her  dark  chestnut  hair  with  gold ;  magic  in 
the  turn  of  her  small  head,  her  delicate  temples,  her 
chiselled  features,  her  scornful,  self-reliant  mouth,  and 
the  depth  of  her  large,  dark,  loving  eyes.  Every  move- 
ment of  the  graceful  neck,  of  the  tall,  lithe  figure,  of 
the  shapely  limbs,  denoted  pride,  indeed,  but  it  was 
a  pride  to  withstand  injury,  oppression,  misfortune, 
insult,  all  the  foes  that  could  attack  it  from  without, 
and  to  yield  only  at  the  softening  touch  of  love. 

As  she  walked  listlessly  to  her  carriage,  taking, 
it  seemed  to  me,  but  little  heed  of  her  companion, 
I  imagined  I  could  detect,  in  a  certain  weariness 
of  step  and  gesture,  the  tokens  of  a  life  unsatis- 
fied, a  destiny  incomplete.  I  wonder  what  made 
me  think  of  Sir  "Walter  Raleigh  flinging  down  his 
gold  embroidered  cloak,  the  only  precious  thing  he 
possessed,  at  the  feet  of  the  maiden  queen  ?     The 


12  THE  WHITE  ROSE. 

young  adventurer  doubtless  acted  on  a  wise  calcula- 
tion and  a  thorough  knowledge  of  human,  or  at 
least  of  feminine,  nature  ;  but  there  is  here  and 
there  a  woman  in  the  world  for  whom  a  man  flings 
his  very  heart  down,  recklessly  and  unhesitatingly, 
to  crush  and  trample  if  she  will.  Sometimes  she 
treads  it  into  the  mire,  but  oftener,  I  think,  she 
picks  it  up,  and  takes  it  to  her  own  breast,  a 
cherished  prize,  purer,  better,  and  holier  for  the 
ordeal  through  which  it  has  passed. 

I  had  no  carriage  to  take  me  home,  and  wanted 
none.  No  gentle  voice  when  I  arrived  there,  kind 
or  querulous,  as  the  case  might  be,  to  reproach  me 
with  the  lateness  of  the  hour.  Shall  I  say  of  this 
luxury  also,  that  I  wanted  none  ?  No ;  buttoning 
my  coat,  and  reliant  on  my  latch-key,  I  passed  into 
the  grey  morning  and  the  bleak  street,  as  Mrs. 
Yandeleur's  carriage  drove  off",  and  the  gentleman 
who  had  attended  her  walked  back  with  a  satisfied 
air  into  the  house  for  his  overcoat,  and  possibly  his 
cigar-case.  As  he  hurried  in,  he  was  fastening  a 
white  rose  in  his  button-hole.  A  sister  flower, 
drooping  and  fading,  perhaps  from  nearer  contact 
with  its  late  owner,  lay  unnoticed  on  the  pavement. 
I  have  seen  so  many  of  these  vegetables  exchanged, 


THE    3IAN   IN   THE    STREET.  13 

particularly  towards  the  close  of  an  entertainment, 
that  I  took  little  notice  either  of  the  keepsake,  pre- 
cious and  perishable,  or  its  discarded  companion ;  but 
I  remember  now  to  have  heard  in  clubs  and  other 
places  of  resort,  how  pale  beautiful  Mrs.  Yandeleur 
went  by  the  name  of  the  White  Rose  ;  a  title  none 
the  less  appropriate,  that  she  was  supposed  to  be 
plentifully  girt  with  thorns,  and  that  many  well- 
known  fingers  were  said  to  have  been  pricked  to  the 
bone  in  their  efforts  to  detach  her  from  her  stem. 

There  is  a  philosophy  in  most  men  towards  five  in 
the  morning,  supposing  them  to  have  been  up  all 
night,  which  tends  to  an  idle  contemplation  of 
human  nature,  and  indulgent  forbearance  towards 
its  weaknesses.  I  generally  encourage  this  frame 
of  mind  by  the  thoughtful  consumption  of  a  cigar. 
Turning  round  to  light  one,  a  few  paces  from  Lady 
Billesdon's  door,  I  was  startled  to  observe  a  shab- 
bily-dressed figure  advance  stealthily  from  the 
comer  of  the  street,  where  it  seemed  to  have  been 
on  the  watch,  and  pounce  at  the  withered  rose, 
crushed  and  yellowing  on  the  pavement.  As  it 
passed  swiftly  by  me,  I  noticed  the  figure  was  that 
of  a  man  in  the  prime  of  life,  but  in  bad  health 
and  apparently  narrow   circumstances.       His   hair 


14  THE  WHITE  ROSE. 

was  matted,  his  face  pale,  and  his  worn-out  clotlies 
hung  loosely  from  the  angles  of  his  frame.  He  took 
no  heed  of  my  presence,  was  probably  unconscious 
of  it ;  for  I  perceived  his  eyes  fill  with  tears  as  he 
pressed  the  crushed  flower  passionately  to  his  lips 
and  heart,  muttering  in  broken  sentences  the  while. 

I  only  caught  the  words,  "  I  have  seen  you  once 
more,  my  darling  !  I  swore  I  would,  and  it  is  worth 
it  all ! "  Then  his  strength  gave  way,  for  he  stopped 
and  leaned  his  head  against  the  area  railings  of  the 
street.  I  could  see,  by  the  heaving  of  his  shoulders, 
the  man  was  sobbing  like  a  child.  Uncertain  how 
to  act,  ere  I  could  approach  nearer  he  had  recovered 
himself  and  was  gone. 

Could  this  be  her  doing  ?  Was  Norah  Yandeleur 
indeed  a  witch,  and  was  nobody  to  be  exempt  from 
her  spells  ?  Was  she  to  send  home  the  sleek  child 
of  fortune,  pleased  with  the  superfluity  of  a  flower 
and  a  flirtation  too  much,  while  she  could  not  even 
spare  the  poor  emaciated  wretch  who  had  darted  on 
the  withered  rose  she  dropped  with  the  avidity  of  a 
famished  hawk  on  its  prey?  What  could  he  be, 
this  man  ?  and  what  connection  could  possibly  exist 
between  him  and  handsome,  high-bred  Mrs.  Yan- 
deleur ? 


THE  MAN   IN   THE   STREET.  15 

All  these  things  I  learned  afterwards,  partly  from 
my  own  observation,  partly  from  the  confessions  of 
those  concerned.  Adding  to  my  early  recollections 
of  Norah  Welby  the  circumstances  that  came  to  my 
knowledge  both  before  and  after  she  changed  her 
name  to  Yandeleur,  I  am  enabled  to  tell  my  tale, 
such  as  it  is  ;  and  I  can  think  of  no  more  appropriate 
title  for  the  story  of  a  fair  and  suffering  woman  than 
"  The  White  Rose." 


CHAPTEK  II. 


THE    YOUNG    IDEA. 


On  a  fine  sunshiny  morning,  not  very  many  years 
ago,  two  boys — I  beg  their  pardon,  two  young 
gentlemen — were  sitting  in  the  comfortless  pupil- 
room  of  a  ''  retired  officer  and  graduate  of  Cam- 
bridge," undergoing  the  process  of  being  "crammed." 
The  retired  officer  and  graduate  of  Cambridge  had 
disappeared  for  luncheon,  and  the  two  young  gentle- 
men immediately  laid  aside  their  books  to  engage  in 
an  animated  discussion  totally  unconnected  with 
their  previous  studies.  It  seemed  such  a  relief  to 
unbend  the  mind  after  an  hour's  continuous  atten- 
tion to  any  subject  whatever,  that  they  availed 
themselves  of  the  welcome  relaxation  without  delay. 
I  am  bound  to  admit  their  conversation  was  in- 
structive in  the  least  possible  degree. 


THE  YOUNG  IDEA.  17 

"  I  say,  Gerard,"  began  the  elder  of  the  two, 
*'  what's  become  of  Dandy  ?  He  was  off  directly 
after  breakfast,  and  to-day's  his  day  for  ^  General 
Information.'  I  wonder  '  Nobs '  stood  it,  but  he 
lets  Dandy  do  as  he  likes." 

"  Nobs,"  be  it  observed,  was  the  term  of  respect 
by  which  Mr.  Archer  was  known  among  his  pupils. 

"  Nobs  is  an  old  muff,  and  Dandy's  a  swell," 
answered  Gerard,  who  had  tilted  his  chair  on  its 
hind-legs  against  the  wall  for  the  greater  con- 
venience of  shooting  paper- spills  at  the  clock.  "  I 
shall  be  off,  too,  as  soon  as  I  have  finished  these 
equations ;  and  I'm  afraid,  DoUy,  you'll  have  to 
spend  another  afternoon  by  yourself." 

He  spoke  nervously,  and  stooped  so  low  to  pick 
one  of  the  spills,  that  it  seemed  to  bring  all  the 
blood  in  his  body  to  his  face ;  but  his  blushes  were 
lost  on  Dolly,  who  looked  out  of  window,  and  an- 
swered tranquilly — 

"  Like  all  great  men,  Gerard,  I  am  never  so  little 
alone  as  when  alone — ^  My  mind  to  me  a  thingamy 
is !  '  You  two  fellows  have  no  resources  within 
yourselves.  Now  I  shall  slope  easily  down  to  the 
mill,  lift  the  trimmers,  smoke  a  weed  with  old 
*  Grits,'  and  wile  away  the  pleasant  afternoon  with  a 

VOL.    I.  c 


18  THE  WHITE  ROSE. 

pot  of  mild  porter ; — peradventure,  if  Grits  is 
thirsty — of  wliicli  I  make  small  doubt — we  shall 
accomplish  two.  And  where  may  you  be  going, 
Master  Jerry,  this  piping  afternoon?  Not  across 
the  marshes  again,  my  boy.  You've  been  there 
twice  already  this  week." 

Once  more  Gerard  blushed  like  a  girl,  and  this 
time  without  escaping  the  observation  of  his  com- 
panion ;  nor  was  his  confusion  lessened  by  the  good- 
humoured  malice  with  which  the  latter  began  to 
<sing  in  a  full  mellow  voice — 

"  She  hath  an  eye  so  soft  and  brown — 

'  "Ware,  hare ! 

She  gives  a  side  glance,  and  looks  down — 

'  "Ware,  hare ! 

Master  Jerry,  she's  fooling  thee  !  " 

Dolly,  whose  real  name  nobody  ever  called  him 
by,  enjoyed  a  great  talent  for  misquotation,  and  a 
tendency  to  regard  life  in  general  from  its  ludicrous 
point  of  view.  Otherwise,  he  was  chiefly  remark- 
able for  a  fat,  jovial  face  ;  a  person  to  correspond  ; 
strong  absorbing  and  digestive  faculties ;  a  good 
humour  that  nothing  could  ruffle  ;  and  an  extraordi- 
nary faciKty  in  dismissiug  useful  information  from  his 
mind.     He  was  heir  to  a  sufficient  fortune,  and,  if  he 


THE  YOUNG   IDEA.  19 

could  pass  his  examination,  his  friends  intended  he 
should  become  a  Hussar. 

Mr.  Archer  was  at  this  period  employed  in  the 
preparation  of  three  young  gentlemen  for  the  service 
of  her  Majesty.  Military  examinations  were  then 
in  an  early  stage  of  development,  but  created,  never- 
theless, strong  misgivings  in  the  minds  of  parents 
and  guardians,  not  to  mention  the  extreme  disgust 
with  which  they  were  viewed  by  future  heroes  indis- 
posed to  book-learning.  It  was  a  great  object  to 
find  an  instructor  who  could  put  the  required  amount 
of  information  into  a  pupil's  head  in  the  shortest 
possible  space  of  time,  without  reference  to  its  stay 
there  after  an  examination  had  been  passed,  and  Mr. 
Archer  was  notorious  for  his  success  in  this  branch 
of  tuition.  Clever  or  stupid,  idle  or  industrious, 
with  him  it  was  simply  a  question  of  weeks. 

''I  will  put  your  young  gentleman  through  the 
mill,"  he  would  observe  to  an  anxious  father  or  an 
over- sanguine  mamma  ;  ''  but  whether  it  takes  him 
three  months  or  six,  or  a  whole  year,  depends  very 
much  upon  himself.  Natural  abilities  I  there's  no 
such  thing  !  If  he  will  learn,  he  shall ;  if  he  won't, 
he  must !  " 

So    Mr.    Archer's   three   small    bed-rooms,    with 


20  THE  WHITE  ROSE. 

their  white  furniture  and  scanty  carpets,  never 
wanted  occupants ;  the  bare,  comfortless  pupil-room, 
with  its  dirty  walls  and  dingy  ceiling,  never  re- 
mained empty  ;  and  Mr.  Archer  himself,  who  was 
really  a  clever  man,  found  his  banker's  account 
increasing  in  proportion  to  his  own  disgust  for 
history,  classics,  geometry,  engineering — all  that 
had  once  afforded  him  a  true  scholar's  delight.  It 
sj)eaks  well  for  learning,  and  the  spells  she  casts 
over  her  lovers,  that  they  can  never  quite  free  them- 
selves from  her  fascinations.  Even  the  over-worked 
usher  of  a  grammar-school  needs  but  a  few  weeks' 
rest  to  return  to  his  allegiance,  and  to  glory  once 
more  in  the  stern  mistress  he  adores.  Mr.  Archer, 
after  a  few  months'  vacation,  could  perhaps  take 
pride  and  pleasure  in  the  cultivation  of  his  intellect ; 
but  at  the  end  of  his  half  year,  jaded,  disgusted, 
and  over- worked,  he  could  have  fomid  it  in  his  heart 
to  envy  the  very  day-labourer  mowing  his  lawn. 

That  this  military  Mentor  had  enough  on  his 
hands  may  be  gathered  from  the  following  sum- 
mary of  his  pupils  : — 

First.  Granville  Burton,  a  young  gentleman  of 
prepossessing  appearance,  and  a  florid  taste  in  dress. 
Antecedents:    Eton;    two  ponies,  a  servant  of  his 


THE  YOUNG  IDEA.  21 

own  at  sixteen,  and  a  motlier  who  had  spoilt  him 
from  the  day  he  was  born.  Handsome,  fatherless, 
and  heir  to  a  good  property,  ever  since  he  could 
remember  he  had  been  nicknamed  "  Dandy,"  and 
was  intended  for  the  Life-Guards. 

Secondly.  Charles  Egremont,  commonly  called 
Dolly,  already  described. 

Lastly.  Gerard  Ainslie,  one  of  those  young  gentle- 
men of  whom  it  is  so  difficult  to  predict  the  future 
— a  lad  in  years,  a  man  in  energy,  but  almost  a 
woman  in  feelings.  Gifted,  indeed,  with  a  woman's 
quick  perceptions  and  instinctive  sense  of  right,  but 
cursed  with  her  keen  affections,  her  yivid  fancy,  and 
painful  tendencies  to  self-torture  and  self-immola- 
tion. Such  a  character  is  pretty  sure  to  be  popular 
both  with  men  and  boys,  also,  perhaps,  with  the 
other  sex.  Young  Ainslie,  having  his  own  way  to 
make  in  the  world,  often  boasted  that  he  always  "  lit 
on  his  legs." 

An  orphan,  and  dependent  on  a  great- uncle  whom 
he  seldom  saw,  the  army  was  indeed  to  be  his  profes- 
sion ;  and  to  him,  far  more  than  either  of  the 
others,  it  was  important  that  he  should  go  up  for 
his  examinations  with  certainty  of  success.  It  is 
needless  to  observe  that   he  was  the  idlest  of  the 


22  THE  WHITE  KOSE. 

three.  By  fits  and  starts  lie  would  take  it  into 
his  head  to  work  hard  for  a  week  at  a  time — 
"Going  in  for  a  grind,"  as  he  called  it — with  a 
vigour  and  determination  that  astonished  Mr.  Archer 
himself. 

"  Ainslie,"  observed  that  gentleman  after  one  of 
these  efforts,  in  which  his  pupil  had  done  twice  the 
usual  tasks  in  half  the  usual  time,  "  there  are  two 
sorts  of  fools — the  fool  positive,  who  can't  help  him- 
self, and  the  fool  superlative,  who  won't !  You 
make  me  think  you  belong  to  the  latter  class.  If 
you  would  only  exert  yourself,  you  might  pass  in  a 
month  from  this  time." 

"  I  can  work,  sir,  well  enough,"  repKed  the  pupil, 
"  when  I  have  an  object." 

"  An  object !  "  retorted  the  tutor,  lifting  his  eye- 
brows in  that  stage  of  astonishment  which  is  but  one 
degree  removed  from  disgust ;  "  gracious  heavens, 
sir,  if  your  whole  success  in  Kfe,  your  character, 
your  position,  the  very  bread  you  eat,  is  not  an 
object,  I  should  like  to  know  what  is !  " 

Gerard  knew,  but  he  wasn't  going  to  tell  Mr. 
Archer ;  and  I  think  that  in  this  instance  the  latter 
showed  less  than  his  usual  tact  and  discrimination 
in  the  characters  of  the  young. 


THE  YOUNG  IDEA.  23 

It  was  in  pursuit  of  this  object  no  doubt  that 
Gerard  finished  his  equations  so  rapidly  and  put  his 
books  on  the  shelf  with  a  nervous  eagerness  that 
denoted  more  than  common  excitement,  to  which 
Dolly's  imperturbable  demeanour  afibrded  a  whole- 
some contrast. 

*'  OS  again,  Jerry/'  observed  the  latter,  still  in- 
tent on  a  mathematical  figure  requiring  the  construc- 
tion of  a  square  and  a  circle,  on  which  he  lavished 
much  unnecessary  accuracy  and  neatness,  to  the 
utter  disregard  of  the  demonstration  it  involved  ; 
"  I  envy  you,  my  boy — and  yet  I  would  not  change 
places  with  you  after  all.  You'll  have  a  pleasant 
journey,  like  the  cove  in  the  poem — 

All  in  the  blue  unclouded  weather, 
Thick -jewelled  shone  the  saddle-leather, 
The  helmet  and  the  helmet  feather 
Burnt  like  one  burning  flame  together, 

As  he  rode  down  to  Camelot, 

'  Tirra-lirra  I     It's  deuced  hot,' 

Sang  Sir  Launcelot. 

— That's  what  I  call  real  poetry,  Jerr}^  I  say,  I  met 
Tennyson  once  at  my  old  governor's.  He  didn't  jaw 
much.  I  thought  him  rather  a  good  chap.  You've 
got  three  miles  of  it  across  those  blazing  marshes. 


24  THE  WHITE  KOSE. 

I'll  take  odds  you  don't  do  it  in  thirty-five  minutes 
— ^walking,  of  course,  heel  and  toe." 

"  Bother !  "  replied  Jerry,  and,  snatching  his  hat 
from  its  peg,  laid  his  hand  on  the  open  window-sill, 
vaulted  through,  and  was  gone. 

Dolly  returned  to  his  problem,  shaking  his  head 
with  considerable  gravity. 

"  Now,  that  young  chap  will  come  to  grief,"  he 
soliloquised.     "  He  wants  looking  after,  and  who's 
to   look   after   him  ?      If  it  was   Dandy  Burton  I 
shouldn't   so   much   mind.     The   Dandy   can   take 
precious  good  care  of  himself.     What  he  likes  is 
to  *  get  up '  awful,  and  be  admired.     Wouldn't  he 
just- 
Stand  at  his  diamond-door, 
With  his  rainbow-frill  unfurled, 
And  swear  if  he  was  uncurled  ? 

Now  Jerry's  different.  Jerry's  a  good  sort,  and  I 
don't  want  to  see  the  young  beggar  go  a  mucker 
for  want  of  a  little  attention.  Grits  is  a  sensible 
chap  enough — I  never  knew  a  miller  that  wasn't. 
I'll  just  drop  easily  down  the  lane  and  talk  it  over 
with  Grits." 

In  pursuance  of  which  discreet  resolution,  Dolly 
— who,  although  actually  the  junior,  believed  him- 


THE   YOUNG  IDEA.  25 

self  in  wisdom  and  general  experience  many  years 
older  than  his  friend — sauntered  out  into  the  sun- 
shine with  such  deliberation  that  ere  he  had  gone 
a  hundred  yards,  the  other,  speeding  along  as  if  he 
trod  on  air,  was  already  more  than  half  through  his 
journey. 

And  he  ivas  treading  on  air.  The  long,  level 
marshes  through  which  he  passed,  with  their  straight 
banks,  their  glistening  ditches,  their  wet,  luxuriant 
herbage  and  hideous  pollard  willows,  would  have 
seemed  to  you  or  me  but  a  flat  uninteresting  land- 
scape, to  be  tolerated  only  for  the  stock  it  could  carry 
and  the  remunerative  interest  it  paid  on  the  capital 
sunk  in  drainage  per  acre ;  but  to  Gerard  Ainslie  it 
was  simply  fairy-land — the  fairy-land  through  which 
most  of  us  pass,  if  only  for  a  few  paces,  at  some 
period  of  our  lives.  Few  enter  it  more  than  once, 
for  we  remember  when  we  emerged  how  cold  it 
was  outside ;  we  shudder  when  we  think  of  the 
bleak  wind  that  bufieted  our  bodies  and  chilled  our 
quivering  hearts ;  we  have  not  forgotten  how  long 
it  took  to  harden  us  for  our  bleak  native  atmosphere, 
and  we  dare  not  risk  so  sad  a  change  again  ! 

The  marshes,  whether  fairy-land  or  pasture,  soon 
disappeared  beneath  Gerard's  light  and  active  foot- 


26  THE  WHITE  ROSE. 

fall.  What  is  a  mere  league  of  distance  to  a  well- 
made  lad  of  nineteen — a  runner,  a  leaper,  a  cricketer 
— tolerably  in  condition,  and,  above  all,  very  mucli 
in  love  ?  He  was  soon  in  a  wooded  district,  amongst 
deep  lanes,  winding  footpaths,  thick  hedges,  frequent 
stiles,  and  a  profusion  of  wild  flowers.  He  threaded 
his  way  as  if  he  knew  it  well.  Presently  the  colour 
faded  from  his  cheek  and  his  heart  began  to  beat, 
for  he  had  reached  a  wicket- gate  in  a  high,  moulder- 
ing, iv}^- grown  wall,  and  beyond  it  he  knew  was  a 
smooth- shaven  lawn,  a  spreading  cj^ress,  a  wealth 
of  roses,  and  the  prettiest  parsonage  within  four 
counties.  He  had  learnt  the  trick  of  the  gate,  and 
had  opened  it  often  enough,  yet  he  paused  for  a 
moment  outside.  Although  he  had  walked  his  three 
miles  pretty  fast,  he  had  been  perfectly  cool  hitherto, 
but  now  he  drew  his  handkerchief  across  his  face, 
while,  with  white  parched  lips  and  trembling  fingers, 
he  turned  the  handle  of  the  wicket  and  passed 
through. 


CHAPTER  III. 


NORAH. 


The  lawn,  the  cedar,  ttie  roses,  there  they  were 
exactly  as  he  had  pictured  them  to  himself  last 
night  in  his  dreams,  that  morning  when  he  awoke, 
the  whole  forenoon  in  the  dreary  study,  through 
those  eternal  equations.  Nothing  was  wanting,  not 
even  the  low  chair,  the  slender  work-table,  nor  the 
presence  that  made  a  paradise  of  it  all. 

She  was  sitting  in  a  white  dress  beneath  the 
drooping  lime-tree  that  gleamed  and  quivered  in  the 
sunbeams,  alive  with  its  hum  of  insects,  heavy  in 
its  wealth  of  summer  fragrance,  and  raining  its 
shower  of  blossoms  with  every  breath  that  whispered 
through  its  leaves.  For  many  a  year  after,  perhaps 
his  whole  life  long,  he  never  forgot  her  as  she  sat 
before  him  then  ;  never  forgot  the  gold  on  her  rich 


28  THE   WHITE  ROSE. 

chestnut  hair,  the  light  in  her  deep  fond  eyes,  nor 
the  tremble  of  happiness  in  her  voice,  while  she 
exclaimed,  "  Gerard  !  And  again  to-day  !  How  did 
you  manage  to  come  over  ?  It  is  so  late  I  had  almost 
given  you  up  ! '' 

She  had  half- risen,  as  if  her  impulse  was  to  rush 
towards  him,  but  sat  down  again,  and  resumed  her 
work  with  tolerable  composure,  though  parted  lips 
and  flushing  cheek  betrayed  only  too  clearly  how 
welcome  was  this  intrusion  on  her  solitude. 

He  was  little  more  than  nineteen,  and  he  loved 
her  very  dearly.  He  could  find  nothing  better  to 
say  than  this  :  "  I  only  wanted  to  bring  you  some 
music.  The  others  are  engaged,  and  I  had  really 
nothing  else  to  do.     How  is  Mr.  Welby  ?" 

"  Papa  was  quite  well,"  she  answered,  demurely 
enough,  "and  very  busy,  as  usual  at  this  hour,  in 
his  own  den.  Should  she  let  him  know,'' — and 
there  was  a  gleam  of  mirth  in  her  eye,  a  suspicion 
of  malice  in  her  tone, — "  should  she  run  and  tell 
him  Mr.  Ainslie  was  here  ?  " 

"By  no  means,"  answered  Gerard,  needlessly 
alarmed  at  such  a  suggestion  ;  "  1  would  not  dis- 
turb him  on  any  consideration.  And,  Norah  ! — you 
said  I  might  call  you  Norah  at  the  Archery 
Meeting." 


NORAH.  29 

"  Did  I  ? "  replied  the  young  lady,  looking  ex- 
ceedingly pretty  and  provoking;  ''I  can't  have 
meant  it  if  I  did." 

"  Oh,  jSTorah  ! "  he  interposed,  reproachfully,  "  you 
don't  mean  to  say  you've  forgotten  ! '' 

"  I  haven't  forgotten  that  you  were  extremely 
cross,  and  ate  no  luncheon,  and  behaved  very  badly," 
she  answered,  laughing.  "  Xever  mind,  Gerard,  we 
made  friends  coming  home,  didn't  we  ?  And  if  I 
said  you  might,  I  suppose  you  must.  Now  you 
look  all  right  again,  so  don't  be  a  rude  boy,  but 
tell  me  honestly  if  you  walked  all  this  way  in 
the  sun  only  because  you  had  nothing  better  to 
do.^" 

His  eyes  glistened.  ''You  know  why  I  come 
here,"  he  said.  "  You  know  why  I  would  walk  a 
thousand  miles  barefoot  to  see  you  for  five  minutes. 
Now  I  shall  be  contented  all  to-day  and  to-morrow, 
and  then  next  morning  I  shall  begin  to  get  rest- 
less and  anxious,  and  if  I  can,  I  shall  come  here 
again." 

"  You  dear  fidget ! "  she  answered,  with  a  bright 
smile.  "  I  know  I  can  beKeve  you,  and  it  makes  me 
very  happy.  Kow  hold  these  silks  while  I  wind 
them  ;  and  after  that,  if  you  do  it  well,  I'll  give  you 


30  THE  WHITE   ROSE. 

some  tea ;  and  then  you  shall  see  papa,  who  is  really 
very  fond  of  you,  before  you  go  back." 

So  the  two  sat  down — in  fairy-land — under  the 
lime-tree,  to  wind  silks — a  process  requiring  little 
physical  exertion,  and  no  great  effort  of  mind.  It 
seemed  to  engross  their  whole  energies  nevertheless, 
and  to  involve  a  good  deal  of  conversation,  carried 
on  in  a  very  low  tone.  I  can  guess  almost  all  they 
said,  but  should  not  repeat  such  arrant  nonsense, 
even  had  I  overheard  every  syllable.  It  was  only 
that  old  story,  I  suppose,  the  oldest  of  all,  but  to 
which  people  never  get  tired  of  listening;  and 
the  sameness  of  which  in  every  language,  and 
under  all  circumstances,  is  as  remarkable  as  its 
utter  want  of  argument,  continuity,  or  common 
sense. 

Grerard  Ainslie  and  Miss  Welby  had  now  known 
each  other  for  about  six  months,  a  sufficiently  long 
period  to  allow  of  very  destructive  campaigns  both 
in  love  and  Avar.  They  had  fallen  in  love,  as  people 
call  it,  very  soon  after  their  first  introduction,  that 
is  to  say,  they  had  thought  about  each  other  a  good 
deal,  met  often  enough  to  keep  up  a  vivid  recollection 
of  mutual  sayings  and  doings,  yet  with  sufficient 
uncertainty  to  create  constant  excitement,  none  the 


NOEAH.  31 

less  keen  for  frequent  disappointments ;  and,  in 
short,  had  gone  through  the  usual  probation  by 
which  that  accident  of  an  accident,  an  unwise 
attachment  between  two  individuals,  becomes 
strengthened  in  exact  proportion  to  its  hopelessness, 
its  inconvenience,  and  the  undoubted  absurdity  that 
it  should  exist  at  all. 

People  said  Mr.  Welby  encouraged  it ;  whereas 
poor  Mr.  Welby,  who  would  have  esteemed  the 
prince  in  a  fairy  tale  not  half  good  enough  for  his 
daughter,  was  simply  pleased  to  think  that  she 
should  have  companions  of  her  own  age,  male  or 
female,  who  could  bring  a  brighter  lustre  to  her  eye, 
a  softer  bloom  to  her  cheek.  It  never  occurred  to 
him  for  a  moment  that  his  Norah,  his  own  peculiar 
pride  and  pet  and  constant  companion  since  he  lost 
her  mother  at  four  years  old,  should  dream  of  caring 
for  anybody  but  himself,  at  least  for  many  a  long 
day  to  come.  If  he  did  contemplate  such  a  possi- 
bility, it  was  with  a  vague,  misty  idea  that  in  some 
ten  years  or  so,  when  he  was  ready  to  drop  into  his 
grave,  some  great  nobleman  woidd  lay  a  heart,  and 
a  coronet  to  match,  at  his  child's  feet,  and  under 
the  circumstances  such  an  arrangement  would  be 
exceedingly  suitable  for  all  concerned.      But  that 


32  THE  WHITE  ROSE. 

Norah,  his  Norah,  should  allow  her  a£Pections  to  be 
entangled  by  young  Gerard  Ainslie,  though  a  prime 
favourite  of  his  own,  why  I  do  not  believe  such  a 
contingency  could  have  been  placed  before  him  in 
any  light  that  could  have  caused  him  to  admit  the 
remotest  chance  of  its  existence. 

Nevertheless,  while  Mr.  Welby  was  making  bad 
EngKsh  of  excellent  Greek,  under  the  impression 
that  he  was  rendering  the  exact  meaning  of  Euri- 
pides for  the  benefit  of  unlearned  men,  his  daughter 
and  her  young  adorer  were  enacting  the  old  comedy, 
tragedy,  farce,  or  pantomime — for  it  partakes  of  the 
nature  of  all  these  entertainments — on  their  own 
little  stage,  with  scenery,  dresses,  and  decorations  to 
correspond.  Ah  !  we  talk  of  eloquence,  expression, 
fine  writing  forsooth  !  and  the  trick  of  word-painting, 
as  very  a  trick  as  any  other  turn  of  the  handi- 
craftsman's trade ;  but  who  ever  read  in  a  whole 
page  of  print  one  half  the  poetry  condensed  into  two 
lines  of  a  woman's  manuscript — ungrammatical,  if 
you  please,  ill  expressed,  and  with  long  tails  to  the 
letters,  yet  breathing  in  every  syllable  that  senti- 
ment of  ideality  which  has  made  the  whole  orna- 
mental literature  of  the  world  ?  After  all,  the  head 
only  reproduces  what  the  heart  creates  ;  and  so  we 


NORAH.  33 

give  tlie  mocking-bird  credit  wlien  lie  imitates  tlie 
loving  murmurs  of  the  dove. 

If  oratory  should  be  judged  by  its  effect,  then 
must  Norah  Welby  and  Gerard  Ainslie  have  been 
speakers  of  the  highest  calibre.  To  be  sure,  they 
had  already  practised  in  a  good  many  rehearsals, 
and  ought  to  have  been  pretty  well  up  in  their 
parts. 

The  simultaneous  start  with  which  they  increased 
their  distance  by  at  least  a  fathom,  on  hearing  the 
door-bell  jingling  all  over  the  house,  would  have 
ensured  a  round  of  applause  from  any  audience  in 
Europe. 

''  How  provoking  !  '^  exclaimed  the  girl ;  "  and 
people  so  seldom  come  here  on  a  Tuesday.  Perhaps, 
after  all,  it's  only  somebody  for  papa." 

Gerard  said  nothing,  but  his  colour  deepened,  and 
a  frown  of  very  obvious  annoyance  lowered  on  his 
brow.  It  did  not  clear  the  more  to  observe  an  open 
carriage,  with  a  pair  of  good-looking  horses,  driven 
round  to  the  stables.  As  paint  and  varnish  glistened 
in  the  sunshine  through  the  laurels.  Miss  Welby 
drew  a  long  sigh  of  relief. 

"  It  might  have  been  worse,"  she  said  ;  "  it  might 
have  been  the  Warings,  all  of  them,  with  their  aunt, 

VOL.    I.  D 


»*  THE  WHITE  ROSE, 

or  that  dreadful  Lady  Baker,  or  Mrs.  Brown ;  but 
it's  only  Mr.  Yandeleur,  and  lie  won't  stay  long. 
Besides,  lie's  always  pleasant  and  good-natured,  and 
never  says  tlie  wrong  thing.  We  won't  have  tea 
though  till  he's  gone." 

"  It  seems  to  me,  Norah,"  answered  her  visitor, 
"  that  you  rather  like  Mr.  Yandeleur." 

"Like  him!  I  should  think  I  did!"  protested 
the  young  lady ;  "  but  you  needn't  look  so  fierce 
about  it.  Master  Jerry.  I  like  him  because  papa 
does;  he's  always  in  better  spirits  after  a  visit 
from  Mr.  Yandeleur.  Besides,  he's  immensely 
clever  you  know,  and  well-read,  and  all  that.  Papa 
says  he  might  be  in  the  Government  if  he  chose  to 
go  into  Parliament.  Not  that  I  care  about  clever 
people  myself ;  I  think  it's  much  nicer  to  be  like  you, 
Jerry,  you  stupid  boy  !  I  don't  think  you'll  ever  pass 
your  examination — and  so  much  the  better,  for  then 
you  won't  have  to  go  away,  and  leave  us  all,  and — 
and  forget  us." 

"  Forget  you !  "  replied  Gerard,  decreasing  by 
one-half  the  distance  he  had  taken  up  from  his 
companion.  What  more  he  might  have  said  was  cut 
short  by  the  appearance  of  a  gentleman  whose  step 
had  been  unheard  on  the  thick  velvet  turf,  and  who 


NORAH.  35 

now  came  forward  to  greet  his  hostess,  with  an 
admirable  mixture  of  the  deference  due  to  a  young 
lady,  and  the  cordiality  permitted  from  an  old 
friend. 

"  I  came  through  the  garden  on  purpose  to  say 
how  d'ye  do,"  he  observed,  with  marked  politeness, 
"  but  my  visit  is  really  to  your  father.  I  hope  he  is 
not  too  busy  to  see  me  for  half-an-hour.  In  fact,  I 
believe  he  expected  me  either  to-day  or  to-morrow.'* 
Then  turning  to  Gerard,  he  shook  him  warmly  by 
the  hand,  and  congratulated  him  on  the  score  he 
had  made  a  few  days  before  in  a  cricket  match. 

Norah  was  right.  Mr.  Yandeleur  was  not  a  man 
to  say  the  wrong  thing,  even  under  the  most  unfa- 
vourable circumstances.  Those  who  knew  him  best 
affirmed  that  he  was  not  to  be  hurried,  nor  taken 
aback,  nor  found  at  a  loss.  He  would  have  been 
exceedingly  popular,  but  that  never  for  more 
than  a  few  seconds  could  he  look  anybody  in  the 
face. 

His  eyes  shifted  uneasily  from  Gerard's  even  now. 
The  latter  did  not  like  him,  and  though  he  answered 
civilly,  was  too  young  to  conceal  his  aversion ;  but 
Yandeleur,  with  all  the  advantage  of  position, 
manner,  and  experience,  still  more  of  the  man  over 


36  THE  WHITE  ROSE. 

the  boy,  and,  above  all,  of  the  careless  admirer  over 
the  devoted  slave,  felt  too  safe  not  to  be  in  good 
humour,  and  put  in  even  for  Gerard's  approval  by 
the  tact  with  which  he  veiled  his  consciousness  of 
intrusion,  while  he  announced  his  intention  to 
withdraw. 

"  I  see  you  have  both  more  work  to  do,"  he  ob- 
served, gaily  pointing  to  a  skein  of  silk  that  still 
hung  over  the  back  of  Norah's  chair,  for  in  truth 
the  operation  had  been  going  on  very  slowly,  "  and 
I  have,  as  usual,  a  thousand  things  to  attend  to 
between  this  and  dinner.  Miss  Welby,  do  you  think 
I  might  venture  to  invade  your  father  at  once  in 
his  study?  If  you  are  not  gone  in  half-an-hour, 
Ainslie,  I  can  give  you  a  lift  most  of  the  way  back. 
I  should  like  you  to  get  your  hand  on  those  chest- 
nuts of  mine.  The  white-legged  one  is  the  only 
perfect  phaeton-horse  I  ever  had  in  my  life.  I  will 
come  and  make  my  bow  to  Miss  Welby  before  I 
start." 

"  Isn't  he  nice  ?  "  exclaimed  IS'orah,  as  the  visitor 
disappeared  under  the  low  ivy- grown  porch  of  the 
Parsonage.  *'  He  always  seems  to  do  exactly  what 
you  want  without  finding  you  out.  And  if  you're 
tired  or  stupid,  or  don't  like  to  talk,  he'll  neither 


NOBAH.  37 

bore  you  himself  nor  let  other  people  worry  you. 
Isn't  lie  nice,  I  say  ?  Master  Jerry,  why  can't  you 
answer  ?  Don't  you  know  that  I  will  insist  on  your 
liking  everybody  I  like  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  like  Mr.  Yandeleur,"  answered  Gerard 
doggedly,  for  not  even  the  compliment  implied  in 
asking  his  opinion  of  the  phaeton-horses — a  compK- 
ment  generally  so  acceptable  at  nineteen — had  over- 
come his  distaste  to  this  gentleman.  ''  I  never  did 
like  him,  and  I  never  sJiall  like  him.  And  I  think 
I  hate  him  all  the  more,  Xorah,  because — be- 
cause  " 

*'  Because  what  ?  "  asked  Miss  Xorah,  pettishly  ; 
"  because  I  like  him  ?  " 

"  Because  I  think  he  likes  you,"  answered  Gerard, 
with  a  very  red  face  ;  adding  somewhat  injudiciously, 
"  it's  absurd,  it's  ridiculous !   An  old  man  like  that ! " 

'•'  He's  not  so  very  old,"  observed  the  young  lady, 
maliciously ;  "  and  he's  tolerably  good-looking  still." 

"  He's  a  widower,  at  any  rate,"  urged  Gerard ; 
"  and  they  say  he  regularly  killed  his  first 
wife." 

"  So  did  Bluebeard,"  replied  wicked  Miss  IN'orah  ; 
"  and  look  how  people  made  up  to  him  afterwards  ! 
Do   you   know,    I   don't   see   why   Mr.    Yandeleur 


38  THE  WHITE  EOSE. 

ehouldn't  settle  down  into  a  very  good  husband  for 
anybody." 

Gerard  bad  been  red  before  ;  be  turned  pale  now. 

"  Do  you  really  mean  tbat  ?  "  be  asked  in  tones 
ratber  lower  and  more  distinct  than  common. 

*'  For  anybody  of  bis  own  age,  of  course,"  answered 
tbe  provoking  girl.  "  Not  for  a  young  lady,  you 
know.  Wby,  be  must  be  very  nearly  as  old  as  papa. 
I  wisb  be'd  come  to  say  *  Good-bye '  all  tbe  same, 
tbougb  be  must  take  you  witb  bim.  Poor  boy ! 
you'll  never  get  back  in  time,  and  you'll  be  so  bot 
if  you  bave  to  run  all  tbe  way." 

Even  wbile  sbe  spoke,  a  servant  came  out  of  tbe 
Parsonage  witb  a  message.  It  was  to  give  "  Mr. 
Yandeleur's  compliments,  and  one  of  bis  borses  bad 
lost  a  sboe.  He  feared  to  make  Mr.  Ainslie  too  late, 
if  be  waited  till  it  was  put  on." 

"  And  you've  never  bad  your  tea  after  all !  "  ex- 
claimed Norab,  about  to  recall  tbe  servant  and  order 
tbat  beverage  fortbwitb. 

But  Ainslie  did  not  want  any  tea,  and  could  not 
stay  for  it  if  be  bad  wanted  some.  Even  bis  ligbt 
foot  could  bardly  be  expected  to  do  tbe  tbree  miles 
mucb  under  twenty-five  minutes,  and  be  must  be  off 
at  once.     He  bated  going,  and  sbe  bated  parting 


NORAH.  39 

with  him.  Probably  they  told  each  other  so,  for  the 
servant  was  already  out  of  hearing,  and  his  back 
was  turned. 

We  may  follow  the  servant's  example.  "We  have 
no  wish  to  be  spies  on  the  leave-taking  of  two  young 
lovers  at  nineteen. 


CHAPTER  lY. 


MR. 


VANDELEUR. 


I  HATE  not  the  slightest  doubt  the  chestnut  horse's 
shoe  was  off  when  he  arrived,  and  that  his  owner 
was  perfectly  aware  of  the  loss  while  so  politely 
offering  Gerard  Ainslie  a  lift  back  in  his  carriage, 
but  Mr.  Yandeleur  was  a  gentleman  untroubled  by 
scruples  either  in  small  things  or  great.  His  prin- 
ciple, if  he  had  any,  was  never  to  practise  insincerity 
unless  it  was  necessary,  or  at  least  extremely  con- 
venient, except  where  women  were  concerned ;  in 
such  cases  he  considered  deceit  not  only  essential, 
but  praiseworthy.  As  a  young  man,  Yandeleur  had 
been  a  profligate,  when  open  profligacy  was  more 
the  fashion  than  at  present ;  while  good  looks,  a  good 
constitution,  and  a  good  fortune,  helped  him  to  play 
his  part  successfully  enough  on  the  stage  of  life,  in 


MR.  VANDELEUR.  41 

London  or  Paris,  as  the  pleasant,  popular  good-for- 
nothing,  who  in  spite  of  his  e:s:travagance  was  never 
out-at-elbows,  in  spite  of  his  excesses  was  never  out 
of  spirits  or  out  of  humour.  With  a  comely  exterior, 
a  healthy  digestion,  and  a  balance  at  his  banker's,  a 
man  requires  but  few  sterling  qualities  to  make  his 
way  in  a  society  that  troubles  itself  very  little  about 
its  neighbours  so  long  as  they  render  themselves 
agreeable,  in  a  world  that  while  not  entirely  averse 
to  being  shocked,  is  chiefly  intolerant  of  being 
bored. 

Some  of  those  who  ministered  to  his  pleasures 
might  indeed  have  told  strange  stories  about  Yande- 
leur,  and  one  violent  scene  in  Paris  was  only  hushed 
up  by  the  tact  of  an  exalted  foreign  friend,  and 
the  complicity  of  a  serge nt  de  ville ;  but  such  trifling 
matters  were  below  the  surface,  and  in  no  way 
affected  his  popularity,  particularly  amongst  the 
ladies,  with  whom  a  little  mystery  goes  a  long 
way,  and  into  whose  good  graces  the  best  initiative 
step  is  to  awaken  a  curiosity,  that  seldom  fails  to 
chafe  itself  into  interest  if  left  for  a  time  un- 
gratified.  It  can  only  have  bsen  some  morbid 
desire  to  learn  more  of  him  at  all  risks,  that  tempted 
the   dau;>hter  of  a  ducal  house   to    trust  her   life's 


42  THE  WHITE  ROSE. 

happiness  in  so  frail  a  bark  as  that  of  Yandeleur. 
"  Lady  Margaret  must  be  a  bold  girl ! "  was  the 
general  opinion  expressed  at  White's,  Boodle's,  and 
Arthur's,  in  the  boudoirs  of  Bslgravia,  and  the 
dining-rooms  of  Mayfair,  when  her  marriage  was 
announced,  and  it  was  observed  that  the  bride- 
groom's intimate  friends  were  those  who  showed  most 
disapprobation  of  the  alliance,  and  who  chiefly  com- 
miserated the  bride.  Nevertheless,  bold  or  blushing, 
Lady  Margaret  married  him  decorously,  attended 
the  wedding-breakfast  afterwards,  and  eventually 
drove  off  in  a  very  becoming  lilac  travelling-dress 
to  spend  the  honeymoon  at  Oakover,  her  husband's 
old  family  place.  But  she  never  came  back  to 
London.  For  two  years  husband  and  wife  disap- 
peared entirely  from  the  set  in  which  they  had 
hitherto  lived,  regretted  loudly,  missed  but  little, 
as  is  the  way  of  the  world.  They  travelled  a  good 
deal,  they  vegetated  at  their  country  place,  but  at 
home  or  abroad  never  seemed  to  be  an  hour  apart. 

Some  people  said  she  was  jealous,  frightfully 
jealous,  and  would  not  let  him  out  of  her  sight ; 
some  that  they  were  a  most  attached  couple  ;  some 
that  Lady  Margaret's  health  had  grown  very  pre- 
carious, and  she  required  constant  attention.     Her 


MR.  VANDELEUR.  43 

own  family  shook  their  heads  and  agreed,  "Mar- 
garet was  much  altered  since  her  marriage,  and 
seemed  so  wrapped  up  in  her  husband  that  she 
had  quite  forgotten  her  own  relations.  As  for 
him — Well,  they  didn't  know  what  she  had  done 
to  him,  but  he  certainl}^  used  to  be  much  pleasanter 
as  a  bachelor  I" 

Lady  Margaret  had  no  children,  yet  she  lost  her 
looks  day  by  day.  At  the  end  of  two  years  the 
blinds  were  down  at  Oakover,  and  its  mistress  was 
lying  dead  in  the  bed- room  that  had  been  decorated 
so  beautifully  to  receive  her  as  a  bride.  The  sun 
rose  and  set  more  than  once  before  Yandeleur  could 
be  persuaded  to  leave  her  body.  A  belated  house- 
maid, creeping  upstairs  to  bed,  frightened  out  of  her 
wits  at  any  rate  by  the  bare  idea  of  a  death  in 
the  house,  heard  his  laughter  ringing  wild  and 
shrill  in  that  desolate  chamber  at  the  end  of  the 
corridor.  Long  afterwards,  in  her  next  place,  the 
poor  girl  would  wake  up  in  the  night,  terrified  by 
the  memory  of  that  fearful  mirth,  which  haunted 
even  her  dreams.  On  the  day  of  Lady  Margaret's 
funeral,  however,  the  mourners  were  surprised  to 
see  how  bravely  her  husband  bore  his  loss.  In  a 
few   weeks,    the   same   people   declared  themselves 


44  THE  WHITE  ROSE. 

shocked  to  hear  that  Mr.  Yandeleur  went  about 
much  as  usual ;  in  a  few  months,  were  surprised  to 
learn  he  had  retired  from  the  world  and  gone  into  a 
monastery. 

The  monastery  turned  out  to  be  simply  a  yacht  of 
considerable  tonnage.  For  two  years  Yandeleur 
absented  himself  from  England,  and  of  that  two 
years  he  either  would  not,  or  could  not,  give  any 
account.  When  he  returned,  the  ladies  would  have 
made  him  a  second  Lara,  had  he  shown  the  least 
tendency  to  the  mysterious  and  romantic  ;  but  he 
turned  up  one  morning  in  Hyde  Park  as  if  nothing 
had  happened,  paid  his  penny  for  a  chair,  lit  his 
cigar,  tcok  his  hat  off  to  the  smartest  ladies  with 
his  old  manner,  went  to  the  Opera,  and  in  twenty- 
four  hours  was  as  thoroughly  re-established  in 
London  as  if  he  had  never  married,  and  never 
left  it. 

He  was  still  rather  good-looking,  but  affected  a 
style  of  dress  and  deportment  belonging  to  a  more 
advanced  period  of  life  than  he  had  attained.  His 
hair  and  whiskers  were  grizzled,  indeed,  and  there 
were  undoubted  wrinkles  about  his  keen  restless  eyes, 
as  on  his  healthy,  weather-browned  cheek  ;  yet  none 
of  the  ladies  voted  him  too  old  to  marry  ;  they  even 


MR.  VANDELEUR.  45 

protested  he  was  not  too  old  to  dance  ;  and  I  believe 
that  at  no  period  of  his  life  would  Yandeleur  have 
had  a  better  chance  of  winning  a  nice  wife  than  in 
the  first  season  after  his  return  from  his  mysterious 
disappearance. 

He  did  not  seem  the  least  inclined  to  take  advan- 
tage of  his  luck.  While  at  Oakover,  indeed,  he 
busied  himself  to  a  certain  extent  with  a  country 
gentleman's  duties  and  amusements — attended  magis- 
trates' meetings  at  rare  intervals,  asked  a  houseful  of 
neighbours  to  shoot,  dine,  and  sleep,  two  or  three 
times  during  the  winter  ;  was  present  at  one  archery 
meeting  in  October,  and  expressed  an  intention  he 
did  not  fulfil,  of  going  to  the  County  Ball ;  but  in 
London  he  appeared  to  relapse  insensibly  into  his 
bachelor  ways  and  bachelor  life,  so  that  the  Yande- 
leur of  forty  was,  I  fear,  little  more  useful  or  re- 
spectable a  member  of  society  than  the  Vandeleur  of 
twenty-five. 

A  few  years  of  such  a  life,  and  the  proprietor  of 
Oakover  seemed  to  have  settled  down  into  a  regular 
groove  of  refined  self-indulgence.  The  tongue  of 
scandal  wags  so  freely  when  it  has  once  been  set 
going,  that  no  wonder  it  soon  tires  itself  out,  and  a 
man  who  pays  lavishly  for  his  pleasures  finds  it  a 


46  THE  WHITE  ROSE. 

long  time  before  they  rise  up  in  judgment  against 
him.  Even  in  a  country  neighbourhood  it  is  possible 
to  establish  a  prescriptive  right  for  doing  wrong ; 
and  while  the  domestic  arrangements  at  Oakover 
itself  were  conducted  with  the  utmost  decorum  and 
propriety,  people  soon  ceased  to  trouble  themselves 
about  its  master's  doings  when  out  of  his  own  house. 

For  an  idle  man  Yandeleur  was  no  mean  scholar. 
The  sixth  form  at  Eton,  and  a  good  degree  at 
Oxford,  had  not  cured  him  of  a  taste  for  classic 
literature,  and  he  certainly  did  derive  a  pleasure 
from  his  visits  to  Mr.  Welby's  Parsonage,  which 
had  nothing  to  do  with  the  bright  eyes  of  the 
clergyman's  daughter. 

Host  and  guest  had  much  in  common.  Welby 
himself,  before  he  entered  the  Church — of  which  it 
is  but  fair  to  say  he  was  a  conscientious  minister — 
had  been  familiar,  so  to  speak,  with  the  ranks  of  the 
Opposition.  Even  now  he  looked  back  to  the  bril- 
liancy of  that  pleasant,  wicked  world,  as  the  crew  of 
Ulysses  may  have  recalled  the  wild  delights  of  their 
enchanted  island.  False  they  were,  no  doubt — 
lawless,  injurious,  debasing  ;  yet  tinged,  they  felt  too 
keenly,  with  an  unearthly  gleam  of  joy  from  heaven 
or  hell.      They  are  thankful  to  have  escaped,  yet 


MR.  VANDELEUR.  47 

would  they  not  forego  the  strange  experience  if  they 
could. 

Miss  Welby  was  right  when  she  said  her  father 
always  seemed  in  better  spirits  after  a  visit  from  Mr. 
Yandeleur ;  perhaps  that  was  why  she  received  the 
latter  so  graciously  when,  emerging  from  the  study, 
he  crossed  the  lawn  to  take  leave  of  her  some  twenty 
minutes  after  Gerard  Ainslie's  departure. 

He  ought  to  have  been  no  bad  judge,  and  he 
thought  he  had  never  seen  a  woman  look  so  well. 
Happiness  is  a  rare  cosmetic  ;  and  though,  as  many 
a  man  had  reason  to  admit,  sorrow  in  after  years 
refined,  idealised,  and  gave  a  more  elevated  character 
to  her  beauty,  I  doubt  if  IS'orah  was  ever  inore  cap- 
tivating to  Yandeleur  than  on  that  bright  summer's 
afternoon  under  the  lime-trees. 

She  was  thinking  of  Gerard,  as  a  woman  thinks  of 
her  idol  for  the  time.  That  period  may  be  a  lifetime, 
or  it  may  last  only  for  a  year  or  two,  or  for  a  few 
months.  I  have  even  heard  three  weeks  specified 
as  its  most  convenient  duration  ;  but  long  or  short, 
no  doubt  the  worship  is  sincere  and  engrossing 
while  it  exists.  The  little  flutter,  the  subdued 
agitation  created  by  the  presence  of  her  lover,  had 
vanished,  but  the  feeling  of  intense  happiness,  the 


48  THE  WHITE  ROSE. 

sense  of  complete  dependence  and  repose,  steeped  Iter 
in  an  atmosphere  of  security  and  contentment  tliat 
seemed  to  glorify  her  whole  being,  and  to  enhance 
even  the  physical  superiority  of  her  charms.  She 
felt  so  thankful,  so  joyful,  so  capable  of  everything 
that  was  noble  or  good,  so  completely  in  charity 
with  all  the  world !  ]^o  wonder  she  greeted  her 
father's  friend  with  a  cordial  manner  and  a  bright 
smile. 

"  Your  carriage  has  not  come  round  yet,  Mr. 
Yandeleur,"  she  said,  ''  and  they  will  bring  tea  in 
five  minutes.  Papa  generally  comes  out  and  has  a 
cup  with  us  here.  You  at  least  are  not  obliged  to 
hurry  away,"  she  added  rather  wistfully,  glancing 
at  the  chair  which  Gerard  had  lately  occupied. 

His  eye  followed  hers.  '*  I  am  glad  I'm  too  old 
for  a  private  tutor,"  he  answered  with  a  meaning 
smile.  "  That's  a  very  nice  boy.  Miss  Welby,  that 
young  Mr.  Ainslie  ;  and  how  sorry  he  seemed  to  go 
away." 

She  blushed.  It  was  embarrassing  to  talk  about 
Gerard,  but  still  it  was  not  unpleasant. 

"We  all  like  him  very  much,"  she  said  guardedly, 
meaning  probably  by  "  all,"  herself,  her  papa,  and 
her  bulfinch,  which  comprised  the  family. 


IME.  VANDELEUK.  49 

"A  nice  gentleman- like  boy,"  continued  Mr. 
Vandeleur  ;  "  well-disposed,  too,  I  can  see.  When 
I  was  his  age.  Miss  Welby,  I  don't  think  I  should 
have  been  so  amenable  to  discipline  under  the  same 
temptation.  I  fancy  my  tutor  might  have  whistled 
for  me,  if  I  wanted  to  be  late  for  dinner.  Ah  !  we 
were  wUder  in  my  time,  and  most  of  us  have  turned 
out  badly  in  consequence  ;  but  I  like  this  lad,  I  assure 
you,  very  much.  None  the  less  that  he  seems  so 
devoted  to  you.     Have  you  Imown  him  long  ?" 

Luckily  the  tea  had  just  arrived,  and  Nor  ah  could 
bend  her  blushing  face  over  the  cups. 

Had  she  knowTi  Gerard  long?  Well,  it  seemed 
so ;  and  yet  the  time  had  passed  only  too  quickly. 
She  had  known  him  scarcely  six  months.  Was  that 
a  long  or  a  short  acquaintance  in  which  to  have 
become  so  fond  of  him  ? 

With  faltering  voice  she  replied,  ''  Yes — no — not 
very  long — ever  since  last  winter,  when  he  came  to 
Mr.  Archer's." 

"Who  is  he  ?  and  what  is  he  ?"  continued  Yan- 
deleur,  sipping  his  tea  calmly.  "  Do  they  mean  him 
for  a  soldier  ?  Will  my  friend  Archer  make  any- 
thing of  him  ?  Don't  you  pity  poor  Archer,  Miss 
Welby  ?     A  scholar,  a  gentleman,  a  fellow  who  has 

VOL.  I.  E 


50  THE  WHITE  ROSE. 

seen  some  service,  and  might  liave  distinguished 
himself  if  he  had  stuck  to  the  army.  And  now  he 
is  condemned  to  spend  seven  hours  a  day  in  licking 
cubs  into  shape  for  inspection  by  the  Horse  Guards." 

"  There  are  no  cuhs  there  this  year,"  she  answered 
with  some  spirit.  "  Mr.  Burton,  and  Mr.  Egremont, 
and  the  rest,  are  very  gentleman-like,  pleasant 
young  men,  and  just  as  clever  as  anybody  else !  " 

"  That  is  not  saying  much,"  he  replied,  with  per- 
fect good  humour ;  ''  but  when  I  talk  of  *  cubs '  I 
declare  to  you  I  don't  mean  your  friend  and  mine, 
Mr.  Ainslie.  I  tell  you  I  have  taken  a  great  fancy 
to  the  boy,  and  would  do  him  a  turn  if  I  could.  I 
suppose   he  would   like  to  get   his   commission   at 


once  r 


Even  at  nineteen  she  was  yet  woman  enough  to 
have  studied  his  future  welfare  ;  and  his  ^*  getting 
his  commission  "  was  the  point  to  which  she  had  so 
often  looked  forward  with  dismay  as  the  termination 
of  their  happiness — it  might  be,  something  whispered 
to  her  ominously,  even  of  their  friendship.  Never- 
theless, she  knew  it  would  be  for  his  advantage  to 
enter  the  army  at  once.  She  knew  he  was  wasting 
his  time  here,  in  nothing  perhaps  more  than  in  his 
oft-repeated  visits  to  herself.      Her  heart  sank  when 


MR.  VANDELEUR.  51 

she  thouglit  of  the  lawn,  and  the  cedar,  and  the 
lime-trees,  without  those  visits  to  look  back  on,  and 
look  forward  to,  but  she  answered  bravely,  though 
her  face  turned  very  pale — 

"  Certainly  !  It  would  be  of  great  importance  to 
Mr.  AinsKe,  I  believe  ;  and  I  am  sure  he  would  be 
grateful  to  anybody  who  could  help  him  to  it." 

She  would  have  added,  "  And  so  should  I,"  but  a 
sensation  as  if  she  were  choking  stopped  her  short. 

"  If  you  are  iQterested  about  him,  that  is  enough," 
replied  Yandeleur.  "  I  will  try  what  can  be  done, 
and  small  as  is  my  interest,  it  ought  to  be  sufficient 
to  carry  out  so  very  common-place  a  job  as  this.  In 
the  meantime  what  a  hot  walk  the  poor  boy  will 
have  !  I  wish  he  could  have  waited,  I  would  have 
driven  him  to  Archer's  door.  It's  a  good  thLUg 
to  be  young.  Miss  Welby,  but  no  doubt  there  are 
certain  disadvantages  connected  with  a  prosperity 
that  is  still  to  come.  In  ten  years  that  young 
gentleman  will  be  a  risiug  man,  I  venture  to  predict. 
In  twenty  a  successful  one,  with  a  position  and  a 
name  in  the  world.  Twenty  years !  It's  a  long 
time,  isn't  it  ?  I  shall  be  in  my  grave,  and  you — 
why  even  you  will  have  left  off  being  a  young 
lady  then." 


ESn^of'^"'*""' 


52  THE   WHITE  ROSE. 

She  was  thinking  the  same  herself.  "Would  it 
really  be  twenty  years  before  poor  Gerard  could 
reach  the  lowest  round  of  that  ladder  on  which  she 
longed  to  see  him  ?  Mr.  Yandeleur  had  great  ex- 
perience, he  must  know  best,  he  was  a  thorough 
man  of  the  world.  What  an  unfair  world  it  was. 
Poor  Gerard ! 

She  sighed,  and  raising  her  eyes  to  her  companion's 
face,  who  instantly  looked  away,  was  conscious  he 
had  read  her  thoughts :  this  added  to  her  dis- 
composure, and  for  the  moment  she  felt  as  if  she 
could  cry.  Yandeleur  knew  every  turn  of  the  game 
he  was  playing,  and  saw  that  for  the  present  he  had 
better  enact  any  part  than  that  of  confidant.  Later, 
perhaps,  when  Gerard  was  gone,  and  the  blank  re- 
quired filling  up,  it  might  be  judicious  to  assume 
that,  or  any  other  character,  which  would  give  him 
access  to  her  society ;  but  at  the  present  stage,  disin- 
terested friendship  was  obviously  the  card  to  play, 
and  he  produced  it  without  hesitation. 

"  Then  that  is  settled  !  "  he  said  gaily.  "  I'll  do 
what  I  can,  and  if  I  don't  succeed  you  may  be  sure 
it's  not  for  want  of  good- will  to  you  and  yours.  I'm 
an  old  friend,  you  know.  Miss  Welby — if  not  of 
your  own,  at  least  of  your  father's  ;  and  believe  me, 


MR.  VANDELEUR.  53 

it  would  be  a  great  pleasure  to  serve  you  in  any- 
thing. Anything  I — a  caprice,  a  fancy,  what  you 
will.  Black  or  white,  right  or  wrong,  easy  or  diffi- 
cult— or  impossible.  That's  plain  speaking,  isn't  it? 
I  don't  do  things  by  halves  !  And  now  I  must 
really  be  off;  those  horses  of  mine  have  pawed  a 
regular  pit  in  your  gravel- walk,  and  half-a-dozen 
country  neighbours  are  waiting  dinner  for  me  at  this 
moment,  I  do  believe.  Good-bye,  Miss  Welby ;  keep 
your  spirits  up,  and  let  me  come  and  see  you  again 
when  I've  some  good  news  to  tell." 

Still  talking,  he  hurried  away,  and  drove  off  at  a 
gallop,  waving  his  whip  cheerfully  above  the  laurels 
as  he  passed  within  sight  of  the  lawn.  Xorah 
thought  she  had  never  liked  him  so  much  as  when 
the  grating  of  his  wheels  died  out  in  the  stillness  of 
the  summer  evening,  and  she  was  left  alone  with  her 
own  thoughts. 


CHAPTER  Y. 


THE   MAID    OF   THE    MILL. 


Mr.  Yandeleur  always  drove  fast.  He  liked  to  know 
that  the  poor  countryman  breaking  stones  on  the  road, 
or  laying  the  fence  by  its  side,  looked  after  him  as  he 
flashed  by,  with  stolid  admiration  on  his  dull  face, 
and  muttered,  "  Ah  !  there  goos  Squire  Yandeleur, 
surelie!"  On  the  present  occasion  his  pace  was  even 
better  than  common,  and  the  chestnuts  laid  them- 
selves down  to  their  Work  in  a  form  that  showed 
the  two  hundred  guineas  a- piece  he  had  paid  for 
them  was  not  a  shilling  too  much.  He  pulled  them 
back  on  their  haunches,  however,  at  a  turn  in 
the  road,  with  a  sudden  energy  that  jerked  his 
groom's  chin  against  the  rail  of  the  driving- seat,  and 
stopped  his  carriage  within  three  feet  of  a  showily- 
dressed  young  woman,  who  was  gathering  wild- 
flowers  ofi"  the  hedge  with  a  transparent  afiectation  of 
unconsciousness  that  she  was  observed. 


THE  MAID  OF   THE  MILL.  55 

"Wliy,  Fanny,"  said  lie,  leaning  out  of  the 
carriage  to  look  under  her  bonnet,  ''  Fanny  Draper, 
I  thought  you  were  in  London,  or  Paris,  at  least ; — 
or  gone  to  the  devil  before  your  time,"  he  added,  in 
an  undertone,  between  his  teeth. 

The  lady  thus  accosted  put  her  hand  to  her  side 
with  a  faint  catching  of  the  breath,  as  of  one  in  weak 
health,  whose  nerves  are  unequal  to  a  shock.  She 
glanced  up  at  him  from  under  her  eye-lashes  roguishly 
enough,  however,  while  she  replied — 

"  My  !  If  it  isn't  Squire  Yandeleur !  I'm  sure 
I  never  thought  as  you'd  be  the  first  person  to  meet 
me  at  my  home-coming,  and  that's  the  truth."  Here 
she  dropped  a  saucy  little  curtsey.  "  I  hope  you've 
kept  your  health,  sir,  since  I  see  you  last ! " 

"  Much  you  care  for  that,  you  little  devil ! "  replied 
Vandeleur,  with  a  familiar  laugh.  "  My  health  is 
pretty  good  for  an  old  one,  and  you  look  as  handsome 
and  as  wicked  as  you  ever  did.  So  we  needn't  pay 
each  other  any  more  unmeaning  compliments.  Here ! 
I've  got  something  to  say  to  you.  Jump  up,  and  I'U 
give  you  a  lift  home  to  the  mill." 

The  girl's  eyes  sparkled,  but  she  looked  meaningly 
towards  the  groom  at  the  horses'  heads,  and  back  in 
his  master's  face. 


56  THE  WHITE  ROSE. 

"  Oh,  never  mind  him. !  "  exclaimed  the  latter, 
understanding  the  glance.  "  If  my  servants  don't 
attend  to  their  own  business,  at  least  they  never 
trouble  themselves  about  mine.  Jump  up,  I  tell  you, 
and  don't  keep  that  off-horse  fretting  all  night." 

She  still  demurred,  though  with  an  obvious  inten- 
tion of  yielding  at  last. 

"  Suppose  we  should  meet  any  of  the  neighbours, 
Mr.  Yandeleur,  or  some  of  the  gentlefolks  coming 
home  from  the  archery.  Why,  whatever  would  they 
think  of  you  and  me  ?" 

"  Please  yourself,"  he  answered,  carelessly.  "  Only 
it's  a  long  two  miles  to  the  mill,  and  I  suppose  you 
don't  want  to  wear  those  pretty  little  boots  out  faster 
than  you  can  help.  Come !  that's  a  good  girl.  I 
thought  you  would.  Sit  tight  now.  Never  mind 
your  dress.  I'll  tuck  it  in  under  the  apron.  Let  'em 
alone,  Tom  !     And  off  she  goes  again  ! " 

While  he  spoke,  he  stretched  out  his  hand  and 
helped  her  into  the  front  seat  by  his  side,  taking 
especial  care  of  the  gaudy  muslin  skirt  she  wore. 
One  word  of  encouragement  was  enough  to  make  his 
horses  dash  freely  at  their  collars,  the  groom  jumped 
into  his  place  like  a  harlequin,  and  the  phaeton  was 
again  bowling  through  the  still  summer  evening  at 
the  rate  of  twelve  miles  an  hour. 


THE  MAID  OF   THE  MILL.  57 

When  a  tolerably  popular  person  has  earned  a 
reputation  for  eccentricity,  there  is  no  end  to  the 
strange  things  he  may  do  without  provoking  the 
censure,  or  even  the  comments,  of  his  neighbours. 
Even  had  it  not  been  the  hour  at  which  most  of  them 
were  dressing  for  dinner,  there  was  little  likelihood 
that  Yandeleur  would  meet  any  of  his  friends  in  the 
lonely  road  that  skirted  his  property,  ere  it  brought 
him  to  the  confines  of  his  park  ;  but  it  is  probable 
that  even  the  most  censorious,  observing  him  driving 
a  smartly-dressed  person  of  the  other  sex  in  a  lower 
grade  of  society  than  his  own,  would  have  made  no 
more  disparaging  remark  than  that  "  Yandeleur  was 
such  a  queer  fellow,  you  never  knew  exactly  what 
he  was  at ! "  He  drove  on,  therefore,  in  perfect 
confidence,  conversing  very  earnestly  with  his  com- 
panion, though  in  such  low  tones  that  Tom's  sharp 
ears  in  the  back  seat  could  scarcely  make  out  a 
syllable  he  said.  She  listened  attentively  enough; 
more  so,  perhaps,  than  he  had  any  right  to  expect, 
considering  that  her  thoughts  were  distracted  by  the 
enviable  situation  in  which  she  found  herself,^ 
driving  in  a  real  phaeton,  by  the  side  of  a  real 
gentleman,  with  a  real  servant  in  livery  behind. 

Fanny  Draper  had  occupied    from  her  youth   a 


58  THE  WHITE  ROSE. 

position  little  calculated  to  improve  either  lier  good 
conduct  or  her  good  sense.  She  had  been  a  village 
beauty  almost  as  long  as  she  could  remember — ever 
since  the  time  when  she  first  began  to  do  up  her 
back-hair  with  a  comb.  The  boys  who  sung  in  the 
choir  made  love  to  her  when  she  went  to  the  Sunday- 
school  ;  the  young  farmers  paid  her  devoted  attention 
and  quarrelled  about  her  among  themselves,  the  first 
day  she  ever  attended  a  merry-making.  She  might 
have  married  a  master-bricklayer  at  eighteen  ;  and 
by  the  time  she  went  out  to  service,  was  as  finished 
a  coquette  in  her  own  way  as  if  she  had  been  a 
French  Marquise  at  the  Court  of  Louis  Quatorze. 

Of  course,  to  use  the  master-bricklayer's  expres- 
sion, such  a  "choice  piece  of  goods"  as  the  miller's 
daughter  was  above  doing  rough  work,  and  the  only 
situation  she  could  think  of  taking  was  that  of  a 
lady's-maid ;  equally  of  course,  she  did  not  keep  her 
first  place  three  months,  but  returned  to  her  father's 
mill  before  the  expiration  of  that  period,  with  rings 
on  her  fingers,  a  large  stock  of  new  clothes,  and  a 
considerable  accession  of  self-esteem.  Also,  it  is 
needless  to  add,  like  all  lady's-maids,  under  a  solemn 
engagement  to  be  married  to  a  butler  ! 

Poor  old  Draper    didn't    know  exactly  what  to 


THE  MAID  OF   THE  MH^L.  59 

make  of  her.  He  had  two  sons  doing  well  in  his 
own  business  at  the  other  end  of  England.  He  was 
a  widower,  Fanny  was  his  only  daughter,  and  the 
happiest  day  in  the  year  to  him  was  the  one  when 
she  came  home.  Nevertheless,  what  with  her  watch, 
her  rings,  her  white  hands,  her  flowing  dresses,  and 
the  number  of  followers  she  managed  to  collect  about 
her  even  at  the  mill,  the  old  man  felt  that  she  was 
too  much  for  him,  and  that  while  she  lived  in  it,  the 
house  never  looked  like  his  own.  He  admired  her 
very  much.  He  loved  her  very  dearly.  He  seldom 
contradicted  her ;  but  he  always  smoked  an  extra 
pipe  the  night  she  went  away,  and  yet  he  dreaded 
the  time  when  she  should  make  a  sensible  marriage 
(perhaps  with  the  butler),  and  be  ''off  his  hands," 
as  he  expressed  it,  "  for  good  and  all," 

Ripley  Mill  was  but  a  little  way  from  Oakover. 
It  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  so  comely  a  young 
woman  as  the  miller's  daughter  escaped  Mr.  Yan- 
deleur's  observation.  She  took  good  care  to  throw 
herself  in  his  way  on  every  possible  occasion,  and 
the  Squire,  as  her  father  called  him,  treated  her 
with  that  sort  of  good-humoured,  condescending, 
offensive  familiarity,  which,  men  seem  to  forget,  is 
the  worst  possible  compliment  to  any  woman  high 


60  THE  WHITE  ROSE. 

or  low.  That  Miss  Draper's  vanity  ever  led  lier  to 
believe  that  slie  could  captivate  tlie  Squire  is  more 
than  I  will  take  upon  me  to  assert,  but  no  doubt  it 
was  flattered  by  the  trifling  attentions  lie  sometimes 
paid  her  ;  and  she  bad  been  beard  to  observe  more 
than  once  amongst  ber  intimates,  tbat  "  tbe  Squire 
was  quite  tbe  gentleman,  and  let  alone  bis  appear- 
ance, wbicb  was  neither  here  nor  there,  his  manners 
would  always  make  him  a  prime  favourite  with  the 
ladies,"  invariably  adding  that,  "  for  her  part,  the 
Squire  knew  his  place,  and  she  knew  hers." 

Tbe  pace  at  which  Yandeleur  drove  soon  brought 
them  to  a  certain  stile,  over  which  Miss  Fanny  had 
leant  many  a  time  in  prolonged  interviews  with 
difierent  rustic  lovers,  and  which  was  removed  but 
by  one  narrow  orchard  from  her  father's  mill. 
Short  as  was  the  time,  however,  the  driver  seemed 
to  have  made  the  most  of  it,  for  his  companion's 
face  looked  flushed  and  agitated  when  she  got  down. 
A  perceptible  shade  of  disappointment,  and  even 
vexation,  clouded  her  brow,  while  the  voice  in 
which  she  bade  him  ^'  Good  evening,"  betrayed  a 
certain  amount  of  pique  and  ill-humour  bravely 
kept  under.  Yandeleur' s  tone,  on  the  contrary, 
was  confident  and  cheerful  as  usual. 


THE  MAID  OF   THE  MILL.  61 

*'  It's  a  bargain  then,"  said  he,  releasing  her 
hand,  as  she  sprang  on  the  foot-path  from  the  top 
of  the  front  wheel.  "  I  can  depend  upon  you,  can't 
I  ?  to  do  your  best  or  worst ;  and  your  worst  with 
that  pretty  face  of  yours  would  tackle  a  much  more 
difficult  job  than  this.  Honour,  Miss  Fanny !  If 
you'll  keep  your  word,  you  know  I'll  keep  mine." 

"  Honour,  Squire,"  replied  she,  with  a  forced 
smile  that  marred  the  comeliness  of  all  the  lower 
part  of  her  face.  "  But  you're  in  a  desperate  hurry! 
A  week  isn't  much  time,  now,  is  it  ?  to  finish  a 
young  gentleman  right  oflp." 

"  Those  bright  eyes  of  yours  finished  an  old 
gentleman  right  ofi*  in  a  day,"  answered  Yandeleur, 
laughing.  "  Grood  night,  my  dear,  and  stick  to 
your  bargain." 

Before  she  was  over  the  stile,  his  phaeton 
had  turned  a  corner  in  the  lane,  and  was  out  of 
sight. 

Miss  Draper  took  her  bonnet  ofi*,  and  dangled  it 
by  the  strings  while  the  cool  evening  air  breathed 
on  her  forehead  and  lifted  her  jetty  locks.  She 
was  a  pretty  girl,  no  doubt,  of  a  style  by  no  means 
uncommon  in  her  class.  Dark  eyes,  high  colour, 
irregular  features,  with  a  good  deal  of  play  in  them. 


62  THE  WHITE  ROSE. 

a  large  laughing  moutli,  and  a  capital  set  of  teeth, 
made  up  a  face  that  people  turned  round  to  look  at 
in  market-places,  or  on  high-roads,  and  her  figure, 
as  she  herself  boasted,  required  "no  making  up, 
with  as  little  dressing  as  most  people's,  provided 
only  her  things  was  good  of  their  kind."  Yes,  she 
was  a  handsome  girl,  and  though  her  vanity  had 
received  a  considerable  shock,  she  did  not  doubt  it 
even  now. 

After  a  few  seconds'  thought,  her  irritation  seemed 
to  subside.  Circumstances  had  for  some  years 
forced  Miss  Draper's  mind  to  take  a  practical  turn. 
Flattered  vanity  was  a  pleasing  sensation,  she 
admitted,  but  tangible  advantage  was  the  thing 
after  all. 

"  Now  whatever  can  the  Squire  be  driving  at  ?  " 
soliloquised  his  late  companion,  as  threading  the 
apple-trees  she  came  within  hearing  of  the  familiar 
mill.  *'  There's  something  behind  all  this,  and 
I'll  be  at  the  back  of  it  as  sure  as  my  name's 
Fanny  !  He's  a  deep  'un,  is  the  Squire,  but  he's  a 
gentleman,  I  will  say  that !  Quite  the  gentleman, 
he  is  !  Ten  pounds  down.  Let  me  see,  that  will  pay 
for  the  two  bonnets,  and  as  much  as  I  ever  will  pay 
of  Mrs.  Markham's  bill.     And  twenty  more  if  it  all 


THE  MAID  OF  THE  MILL.  63 

comes  ojff  right,  within  a  montli.  Twenty  pounds  is 
a  good  deal  of  money !  Yes,  I  always  did  uphold 
as  the  Squire  were  quite  the  gentleman. '^ 

She  arrived  simultaneously  with  this  happy  con- 
clusion at  the  door  of  her  paternal  home,  and 
the  welcome  of  her  father's  professionally  dusty 
emhrace. 

Yandeleur  was  not  long  in  reaching  Oakoyer,  and 
commencing  his  toilet,  which  progressed  rapidly, 
like  everything  else  he  did,  without  his  appearing  to 
hurry  it.  At  a  sufl&ciently  advanced  stage  he  rang 
for  his  valet.  *'  Anybody  come  yet  ?  "  asked  the 
host,  tying  a  white  neckcloth  with  the  utmost 
precision. 

"  Sir  Thomas  Boulder,  Colonel  and  Mrs.  Waring, 
Lady  Baker,  Mrs.  and  Miss  St.  Denys,  Major  Blades, 
Captain  Coverley,  and  Mr.  Green,"  answered  the 
well- drilled  valet  without  faltering. 

"  Nobody  else  expected,  is  there  ?  "  was  the  next 
question,  while  his  master  pulled  the  bows  to  equal 
length. 

"  Dinner  was  ordered  for  ten,  sir,"  answered  his 
servant. 

"  Been  here  long  ?  "  asked  Yandeleur,  buttoning 
the  watch-chain  into  his  waistcoat. 


64  THE  WHITE  ROSE. 

''About  three-quarters  of  an  hour,  sir,"  was  the 
imperturbable  reply. 

"  Yery  good.  Then  get  dinner  in  five  minutes !  " 
and  although  nine  hungry  guests  were  waiting  for 
him,  Yandeleur  employed  that  five  minutes  in  writ- 
ing a  letter  to  a  great  nobleman,  with  whom  he  was 
on  intimate  terms. 

While  he  ordered  a  man  and  horse  to  gallop  off" 
with  it  at  once  to  the  nearest  post-town,  in  time  for 
the  night  mail,  he  read  the  following  lines  over 
with  a  satisfied  expression  of  countenance,  and  rather 
an  evil  smile. 

"  My  dear  Lord, — You  can  do  me  a  favour,  and 
I  know  I  have  only  to  ask  it.  I  want  a  commission 
for  a  young  friend  of  mind,  as  soon  as  ever  it  can  be 
got.  I  believe  he  is  quite  ready  for  examination,  or 
whatever  you  call  the  farce  these  young  ones  have 
to  enact  now-a-days.  In  our  time  people  were  not 
so  particular  about  anything.  Still  I  think  you  and 
I  do  pretty  much  as  we  like,  and  can't  complain. 
On  a  slip  of  paper  I  enclose  the  young  one's  name 
and  address.  The  sooner,  for  his  own  sake,  we  get 
him  out  of  England  the  better, — and  where  he  goes 
afterwards  nobody  cares  a  curse  !      You  understand. 


THE  MAID  OF  THE  MHLL.  65 

"Don't  forget  I  expect  you  early  next  month, 
and  will  make  sure  there  is  a  pleasant  party  to 
meet  you. 

"  Ever  yours, 

"J.  Yaxdeleur." 

"  Not  a  bad  day's  work  altogether,"  muttered  the 
writer  as  he  stuck  a  stamp  on  the  envelope,  and 
went  down  to  dinner. 


VOL.    I. 


CHAPTEE  YL 


GRINDIJJG. 


In  pursuance  of  her  bargain  with  Mr.  Yandeleur, 
whatever  it  may  have  been,  Fanny  Draper  attired 
herself  in  a  yerj  becoming  dress  after  her  one  o'clock 
dinner  on  the  following  day,  and  proceeded  to  take 
an  accidental  stroll  in  the  direction  of  Mr.  Archer's 
house,  which  was  but  a  few  hundred  yards  distant 
from  the  village  of  Ripley. 

Disinclined  either  to  make  fresh  conquests  or  to 
meet  old  admirers,  both  contingencies  being  equally 
inconvenient  at  present,  she  followed  a  narrow  lane 
skirting  the  backs  of  certain  cottages,  which  brought 
her  opposite  the  gate  of  Mr.  Archer's  garden  at  the 
exact  moment  when  Dandy  Burton,  having  finished 
his  studies  for  the  day,  put  a  cigar  into  his  mouth, 
as  a  light  and  temperate  substitute  for  luncheon,  the 


GRINDING.  67 

Dandy — whose  figure  was  remarkably  symmetrical 
— being  already  afraid  of  losing  his  waist.  Miss 
Draper,  as  she  would  have  expressed  herself,  "  took 
more  than  one  good  look  at  him  before  she  played 
her  first  card ; "  for  the  hawk,  though  unhooded, 
so  to  speak,  and  flung  aloft,  had  not  yet  made  quite 
sure  of  her  quarry,  and,  except  as  a  question  of 
wholesome  practice,  it  would  be  a  pity  to  waste 
much  blandishment  upon  the  wrong  young  gentle- 
man. So  she  scanned  him  carefully  before  she 
pounced,  approving  much  of  what  she  saw. 

Dandy  Burton  was  tall,  well-made,  and  un- 
doubtedly good-looking,  with  an  air,  extremely 
becoming  when  people  are  not  yet  twenty,  of  being 
over  his  real  age.  His  face  was  very  nearly  hand- 
some, but  there  was  something  wanting  in  its  ex- 
pression, and  a  woman's  eye  would  have  preferred 
many  a  plainer  countenance  which  carried  a  more 
marked  impress  of  the  man  within. 

Even  Fanny  was  conscious  of  this  defect  at  a 
second  glance.  It  made  her  part,  she  reflected,  all 
the  easier  to  play.  So  gathering  some  violets  from 
the  hedge-side,  she  tied  them  coquettishly  into  a  posy, 
and  then,  dropping  a  curtsey,  shot  a  killing  glance 
at  the  Dandy,  while  she  observed,  demurely  enough — 


68  THE  WHITE  ROSE. 

"One  of  Mr.  Arclier's  young  gentlemen,  I  be- 
lieve ?  I'm  sure  I  ask  your  pardon,  sir,  if  you're 
not." 

Dandy  Burton,  thus  challenged,  ranged  up  along- 
side. 

"  I  am  staying  with  Mr.  Archer  at  present,"  said 
he,  removing  the  cigar  from  his  mouth  and  making 
a  faint  snatch  at  his  roimd  shooting-hat.  "  Did  you 
want  to  speak  to  any  of  us  ?  I  beg  your  pardon — I 
mean,  can  I  be  of  any  service  to  you  before  Mr. 
Archer  goes  out  ?  " 

With  all  the  savoir-vivre  he  used  to  boast  of  in 
the  pupil-room,  Mr.  Burton  was  a  little  puzzled. 
She  was  good-looking,  she  was  well  got-up,  yet 
something  in  his  instincts  told  him  she  was  not 
quite  a  lady  after  all. 

"It's  not  Mr.  Archer,"  she  answered,  with  a 
becoming  little  blush  and  a  laugh  ;  "it's  the  young 
gentleman  as  father  bade  me  leave  a  message  for — 
father,  down  at  Ripley  Mill,  you  know,  sir." 

"Bad  English.  Talks  of  '  father '  and  calls  me 
*  sir,'  "  thought  the  Dandy,  his  confidence  returning 
at  once. 

"All  right,  my  dear,"  he  answered,  replacing  the 
cigar  in  his  mouth,  and  crossing  the  road  to  her 


GKINDING.  69 

side :  "I  know  Ripley  Mill  well  enough,  and  I 
know  '  father/  as  you  call  him,  meaning,  I  suppose, 
my  friend  Mr.  Draper ;  but  I  did  not  know  he'd 
got  such  a  little  duck  of  a  daughter.  I  wish  I'd 
found  it  out,  though,  six  months  ago — I  do,  upon 
my  honour !  ^' 

"  Well,  I'm  sure  !  "  repKed  Miss  Fanny,  in  no 
way  taken  aback  by  the  familiar  tone  of  admiration, 
to  which  she  was  well-accustomed.  "  You  gentle- 
men are  so  given  to  compliments,  there's  no  believ- 
ing a  word  you  say.  I  should  like  to  hear,  now, 
what  good  it  would  have  done  you  if  you  had  known 
as  I  was  down  at  the  Mill  six  months  ago." 

"  I  should  have  walked  over  there  every  day,  on 
the  chance  of  seeing  your  pretty  face !  "  answered 
the  Dandy,  rising,  as  he  flattered  himself,  to  the 
occasion. 

"You  wouldn't  have  found  me,''^  she  laughed; 
"I've  been  in  London  since  then.  I  only  came 
home  for  good  yesterday  evening." 

"Then  I  shall  spend  all  my  spare  time  at  the 
Mill  now,  till  I  go  away,"  retorted  Burton,  rolling 
the  wet  end  of  his  cigar  with  his  best  air. 

"  Are  you  going  away  so  soon  P  "  she  said,  looking 
rather  anxiously  into  his  face. 


70  THE  WHITE  KOSE. 

"  Decidedly,"  thouglit  the  Dandy,  "  this  is  a  case 
of  love  at  first  sight.  It's  deuced  odd,  too.  I  am 
not  much  used  to  their  ways,  and  it's  just  possible 
she  may  be  gammoning  a  fellow  all  the  time.  Never 
mind !  two  can  play  at  that  game,  so  here  goes." 

"  Not  unless  you'll  come  with  me,"  he  exclaimed 
afPectionately.  "  Since  I've  seen  you,  Miss  Draper, 
for  I  suppose  you  are  Miss  Draper,  I  couldn't  bear 
to  leave  you.  Now,  touching  this  message.  Are 
you  quite  sure  you  have  brought  it  aU  this  way 
without  spilling  any  of  it  ?  " 

"I'm  not  one  as  isn't  to  be  trusted,"  answered 
the  lady,  meaningly,  motioning  him  at  the  same 
time  to  walk  a  little  farther  down  the  lane,  out  of 
sight  of  Mr.  Archer^s  top  windows.  *^  They  say  as 
women  can't  keep  secrets — I  wish  somebody  would 
try  me.  It's  not  in  my  nature  to  deceive.  There, 
what  a  fool  I  am,  to  go  talking  on  to  a  gentleman 
like  you,  and  I  never  set  eyes  on  you  before." 

"  But  you'll  let  me  come  and  see  you  down  at  the 
Mill  ?  "  said  he  ;  "  it  is  but  a  step,  you  know,  from 
here.  I  could  easily  be  there  every  day  about  this 
time."' 

"  And  I  should  like  to  know  what  father  woiJd 
say  !  "  interposed  Miss  Fanny,  with  a  sudden  access 


GRINDING.  71 

of  propriety.  "  I  ought  to  be  back  with  father  now, 
and  here  I  am,  putting  off  my  time  talking  to  you, 
and — there,  I  declare,  I'm  quite  ashamed.  I  don't 
even  know  your  name.  It's  Mr.  AinsHe,  isn't 
it  ?  " 

Burton  laughed. 

"  Why  do  you  think  it's  Ainslie?  " 

"Because  they  told  me  as  Mr.  Ainslie  was  the 
only  grown-up  gentleman  here,"  she  answered, 
hazarding  a  supposition  that  could  not  fail  to  be 
favourably  received,  and  flattering  herself  she  was 
going  on  swimmingly. 

The  Dandy,  however,  did  not  see  the  advantage  of 
being  taken  for  his  friend,  and  thought  it  right  to 
undeceive  his  new  flame  without  delay. 

"  My  name's  Burton,"  he  said,  rather  conceitedly. 
"  Ainslie's  a  shorter  chap,  with  darker  hair  and  eyes 

— altogether,  not  quite  so — not  quite  so "  he 

hesitated,  for,  though  vain,  he  was  not  a  fool. 

"  Not  quite  so  much  of  a  ladies'  man,  I  dare  say !  " 
She  finished  his  sentence  for  him  with  a  laugh,  to 
cover  her  own  vexation,  for  she  felt  she  had  been 
wasting  time  sadly.  "  I  don't  think  you're  one  as 
is  ever  likely  to  be  mistook  for  somebody  else.  I 
must  wish  you  good  day  now,  sir.     It's  more  than 


72  THE  WHITE  ROSE. 

time  I  was  back.  I  couldn't  stay  another  minute  if 
it  was  ever  so." 

She  was  a  little  disappointed  at  his  ready  acqui- 
escence. 

"  And  your  message  ?"  he  asked,  lighting  a  fresh 
cigar. 

"  It  was  only  father's  duty,"  she  answered.  "  I 
was  to  tell  the  young  gentlemen  they're  welcome  to 
a  day's  fishing  above  Ripley  Lock  to-morrow,  if  they 
like  to  come,  and  there  ought  to  be  some  sport  for 
'em,  says  father,  if  the  wind  keeps  southerly." 

"  We'll  be  there  !  "  answered  the  Dandy,  joyfully. 
"  And  I  say,  how  about  luncheon  ?  You'll  bring  it 
us,  won't  you,  from  the  Mill  ?  " 

"  For  how  many  ?"  asked  Miss  Fanny  ;  thinking, 
perhaps,  it  might  not  be  a  bad  plan. 

"  Well,  there's  three  of  us  !  "  answered  the  Dandy. 
"  Dolly,  and  Ainslie,  and  me.  Better  bring  enough 
for  four.  Miss  Draper.  It's  not  every  day  in  the 
week  I  do  such  things.  Besides,  you'll  sit  down 
with  us,  you  know,  or  we  shan't  be  able  to  eat  a 
morsel." 

She  tossed  her  head.  "  Indeed,  you're  very  kind," 
she  said.  "  Well,  if  you're  all  coming,  I'll  attend 
to  it,  and  perhaps  bring  it  you  myself.     No,  sir !  not 


GRINDING.  73 

a  step  furtlier.  I  couldn't  think  of  walking  through 
the  village  with  you.  AVhat  would  Mr.  Archer  say  ? 
Thank  you ;  I  can  take  very  good  care  of  myself !  '* 

Thus  parrying  the  Dandy's  importunities,  who, 
having  nothing  better  to  do,  proposed  a  lounge 
down  to  the  Mill  in  her  company.  Miss  Draper  pro- 
ceeded on  her  homeward  journey,  only  turning  round 
when  she  had  gone  a  few  steps,  to  comply  with  his 
entreaties  that  she  would  give  him  her  lately- 
gathered  posy. 

"  You^U  chuck  us  the  violets,  at  least,"  said  this 
young  gentleman,  in  a  plaintive  tone. 

"  Yes ;  I  don't  want  the  violets,"  she  answered, 
not  very  graciously,  and  whisking  past  the  turn  by 
the  baker's,  was  soon  out  of  sight. 

Dandy  Burton  was  so  elated  with  this,  his  last 
conquest,  that  he  did  not  even  wait  to  finish  his 
cigar,  but  throwing  it  away,  returned  hastily  to 
the  pupil-room  in  order  to  catch  his  companions 
before  they  went  out. 

He  was  lucky  enough  to  find  them  both  still  in 
their  studies  ;  Gerard  Ainslie  struggling  hard  with 
"unknown  quantities,"  and  Dolly  puzzling  over 
the  discovery  of  America,  an  era  of  history  in- 
separable,  in   his  own  mind,  from  the  destruction 


74  THE  WHITE  ROSE. 

of  the  Spanish  Armada.  Burton  had  no  scruple  in 
disturbing  them. 

"  Look  there,  you  chaps !  "  said  he,  throwing 
Fanny  Draper's  violets  on  the  study-table.  "That's 
the  way  to  do  it !  A  fellow  can't  even  smoke  a 
quiet  weed  in  these  diggings,  but  he's  pelted  in 
again  with  flowers  !  Now  I  don't  mind  la}^g 
odds,  neither  of  you  can  tell  in  three  guesses  where 
these  came  from." 

"  Don't  bother  !  "  answered  Ainslie,  looking  up 
impatiently,  and  diving  once  more  head-foremost 
into  his  algebra. 

"  Some  flowerets  of  Eden  we  still  inherit, 
But  the  trail  of  the  Dandy  is  over  them  all !  " 

quoted  Dolly,  shutting  up  his  English  History  with 
a  sigh  of  relief.  "■  Why  they  were  given  you  by 
*  some  village  maiden  who  with  damitless  breast ' 
was  determined  on  making  you  a  greater  fool,  my 
beloved  Dandy,  than  nature  and  Archer  combined 
can  accomplish — if  such  a  feat  were,  indeed,  possible. 
They  can't  let  him  alone,  ochone  !  Every  institu- 
tion has  its  show-man,  you  know,  Jerry,  and  the 
Dandy  is  ours  !  " 

Gerard  did  not  think  it  worth  while  to  answer : 


GRINDING.  75 

and  Burton,  on  whose  good-liiunoured  self-conceit 
the  arrows  of  chaff  rained  harmless,  replied, 
"  Wouldn't  you  like  it  yourself,  Dolly  ?  Never 
mind,  my  boy.  Every  chap  must  paddle  his  own 
canoe.     We  all  have  different  gifts,  you  know.'* 

**  Yery  true,"  replied  Dolly.  ^'  Dress  and  deport- 
ment are  yours  ;  light  literature,  I  think,  is  mine  ; 
and,"  sinking  his  voice  while  he  jerked  his  head 
towards  Ainslie,  "  love  and  logarithms  are  his !  " 

"  Wake  up,  Jerry  !  "  exclaimed  Burton,  "  and 
answer  this  slanderous  accusation.  Of  logarithms 
we  acquit  you  at  once,  and  surely  you  are  not  soft 
enough  to  be  in  love  !  " 

Ainslie  reddened.  ''  Well,"  he  said,  keeping  down 
his  confusion,  "  I  suppose  a  fellow  may  have  ^  a  spoon ' 
if  he  Kkes." 

"A  spoon!"  exclaimed  Dolly.  "  A  regular  soup- 
ladle  !  He's  got  all  the  symptoms — premonitory, 
sympathetic,  and  confirmed. 

There  is  even  a  space  for  the  ghost  of  her  face  in  this  narrow 

pupil-room, 
And  Archer  is  blind,  and   the  Dandy's  a  fool,  and  Jerry 

has  met  with  his  doom." 

"  What  nonsense  you  talk  !  "  retorted  Ainslie, 
angrily.     "  At  all  events,  I  don't  pick  a  handful  of 


76  THE  WHITE   ROSE. 

violets  to  flash  them  down  on  the  study -table,  and 
swear  they  were  given  me  by  a  duchess  five  minutes 
ago.  Hang  it !  mine  should  be  a  better  swagger 
than  that.  I'd  have  roses  or  pinks,  or  a  bunch  of 
hot-house  flowers,  when  I  was  about  it." 

' '  A  primrose  on  tlie  river's  brim, 
A  yellow  primrose  is  to  him, 
And  in  he  goes  to  sink  or  swim," 

observed  Dolly.  "  One  flower  is  as  good  as  another, 
if  it's  ofiered  by  the  right  party.  Now  I  know 
where  Dandy  got  these.  They  were  given  him  by 
the  cook.  She  picks  them  for  the  salad,  and  puts 
them  in  with  what  she  calls  '  garnishing ' — slugs> 
eggshell,  and  bits  of  gravel." 

"  You  know  nothing  about  it,  Dolly !  "  exclaimed 
Ainslie.  "  This  isn't  a  salad-day.  No  ;  it's  a  keep- 
sake from  Mother  Markham, — milliner  and  modiste. 
She's  repaired  Dandy's  stays  ever  so  often  since  he 
came." 

*'  You're  wrong,  both  of  you,"  said  the  impertur- 
bable Dandy.  "  They  were  given  me  by  Miss 
Draper — Miss  Fanny  Draper,  of  Ripley  Mill — now 
then  !  A  young  lady  neither  of  you  have  ever  seen  ; 
and  a  deuced  pretty  girl  too.  What's  more,  she 
asked  if  my  name  wasn't  Ainslie  ?" 


GRINDING.  /  i 

Again  Gerard  bluslied,  and  this  time  without 
cause. 

*'A  most  improbable  story,"  remarked  Dolly. 
"Ainslie's  engaged.  If  she'd  said  Egremont,  I 
could  have  beKeved  it.     This  requires  confirmation." 

"  I  can  proye  it  fast  en,ough,"  answered  Burton. 
'^  Old  *  Grits  '  wants  us  all  to  go  down  and  fish  at 
the  Upper  Lock  to-morrow.  It  won't  be  bad  fun. 
I  vote  we  go,  if  Nobs  will  stand  it.  He  must  let  us 
out  at  twelve  o'clock." 

"You'd  better  ask  him,  Dolly,"  said  Gerard. 
"  Here  he  comes  !  " 

While  the  latter  spoke,  Mr.  Archer  entered  the 
pupil-room  with  a  listless  air,  and  rather  a  weary 
step.  Truth  to  tell,  he  was  a  little  tired  of  the  ever- 
recurring  round  which  in  the  slang  of  to-day  is  not 
inappropriately  termed  a  "grind."  It  paid  him 
well,  as  he  often  said  to  himself,  or  it  would  be 
unbearable.  Like  the  treadmill,  or  any  such  penal 
labour,  it  was  hard  work  with  no  visible  result.  One 
pupil  after  another  was  indeed  turned  out,  just  able 
to  squeeze  through  his  examination,  as  a  chair  or  a 
table  is  finished  ojff  to  order  by  a  carpenter ;  but  that 
result  attained,  the  master's  duty  was  done  by  his 
disciple,   and   he   had   no   farther   interest    in   the 


78  THE  WHITE  HOSE. 

latter's  progress  or  subsequent  career.  Slow  and 
quick,  stupid  and  clever,  all  had  to  be  brought  up  to 
exactly  the  same  standard, — the  former  required 
more  time  and  pains  than  the  latter,  that  was  the 
whole  difference.  One  can  scarcely  conceive  a  more 
uninteresting  phase  of  tutorship. 

Archer  had  made  an  improvident  marriage,  and  a 
very  happy  one  ;  had  sold  out  of  the  Army  in  conse- 
quence, and  had  been  glad  to  augment  his  slender 
income  by  fitting  young  men  for  the  profession  he 
had  left.  But  his  wife  died  early,  and  with  her  the 
stimulus  to  exertion  was  gone.  He  had  no  children, 
and  few  friends.     Altogether  it  was  weary  work. 

If  the  necessary  amount  of  study  could  be  got 
through  in  the  week,  a  holiday  was  even  a  greater 
relief  to  tutor  than  pupils  ;  and  with  a  stipulation 
to  that  effect,  he  willingly  granted  Dolly's  request 
that  they  should  all  start  on  their  fishing  excursion 
next  day  at  twelve  o'clock. 


CHAPTER   VII. 


A    CATS- PAW. 


Old  "Grits,"  as  his  familiars  called  that  very 
respectable  miller,  Mr.  Draper,  liked  to  have  his 
breakfast  early  —  really  early;  meaning  thereby 
somewhere  about  sunrise.  This  entailed  getting  up 
in  the  dark  on  such  of  his  household  as  prepared 
that  meal,  and  Miss  Fanny  entertained  the  greatest 
objection  to  getting  up  in  the  dark.  Consequently 
as  they  breakfasted  together — for  on  this  the  miller 
insisted  while  she  stayed  with  him — both  father  and 
daughter  were  put  out  from  their  usual  habits.  The 
hour  was  too  earl}^  for  her,  too  late  for  him.  He  was 
hungry  and  snappish,  she  was  hurried  and  cross. 
"Whatever  differences  of  opinion  they  entertained 
were  more  freely  discussed,  and  more  stoutly  upheld 
at  this,  than  at  any  other  hour  of  the  twenty-four. 


80  THE  WHITE  ROSE. 

It  is  a  great  thing  to  begin  tlie  day  in  good 
liiimour;  and  that  woman  is  wise,  be  she  mother, 
wife,  or  daughter,  who  brings  a  smiling  face  down 
to  breakfast  ere  the  toast  becomes  sodden  and  the 
tea  cold;  who,  if  she  has  disagreeable  intelligence 
to  communicate,  grievances  to  detail,  or  complaints 
to  make,  puts  them  off  till  the  things  have  been 
taken  away,  and  an  evil  can  be  confronted  in  that 
spirit  of  good- will  and  good-humour  which  robs  it 
of  half   its  force.     Put  man,  woman,   or  child,  or 

even  a  dumb  animal,  wrong  the  first  thing  in  the 
morning,  and  the  equanimity  thus  lost  is   seldom 

restored  till  late  in  the  afternoon.  Grits  and  Fanny 
both  knew  this  well  by  experience,  yet  they  had 
their  say  out  just  the  same. 

"Now,  Fan  !"  grunted  the  miller,  walking  heavily 

into  their  little  parlour,  with  a  cloud  of  yesterday's 

flour  rising  from  his  clothes.     "  Look  alive,  girl  ! 

Come — bustle,  bustle  !     It's  gone  six  o'clock." 
"  Why,   father,  how  you   keep   on   worriting !  " 

replied  a  voice  from  an  inner  chamber,  constrained 

and  indistinct,  as  of  one  who  is  fastening  her  stays, 

with  hair-pins  in  her  mouth. 

"  Worriting  indeed !  "  retorted  Mr.  Draper.  "  It's 

been  broad   daylight   for   more   than  an   hour.     I 


81 

should  like  to  know  how  a  man  is  to  get  his  work 
done,  if  his  hreakfast  has  to  be  put  back  till  nigh 
dinner-time.  These  may  be  quality  manners,  lass ; 
but  blow  me  if  they  suits  us  down  here  at  Ripley  V* 

"Blow  your  tea,  father — that's  what  you've  got 
to  blow,"  replied  Miss  Fanny,  who  had  now  emerged 
from  her  tiring-room  only  half-dressed,  pouring  him 
out  a  cup  so  hot  that  it  was  transferred,  to  be  operated 
on  as  she  suggested,  into  the  saucer.  "  I  do  believe 
now,  if  it  wasn't  for  me  coming  here  to  stop  with 
you  at  odd  times,  you'd  get  your  breakfast  so 
early  as  it  would  interfere  with  your  supper  over- 
night !  " 

The  miller  was  busy  with  thick  bread-and-butter. 
A  growl  was  his  only  reply.  Miss  Fanny  looked 
out  of  the  window  thoughtfully,  drank  a  little  tea, 
shot  a  doubtful  glance  at  her  papa,  and  hazarded 
the  following  harmless  question  : 

"  It's  a  dull  morning,  father.  Do  you  think  it 
will  hold  up — you  that  knows  the  weather  so  well 
at  Eipley  ?  " 

It  pleased  him  to  be  esteemed  wise  on  such 
matters,  and  the  hot  tea  had  put  him  in  a  better 
humour. 

"  Hold  up,  lass  ?  "  he  answered,  cheerfully ;  "  why 

VOL.  I.  G 


82  THE  WHITE  KOSE. 

shouldn^t  it  hold  u]>?  Even  with  a  south  wind, 
these  here  grey  mornings  doesn't  often  turn  to  rain. 
You  may  put  your  best  bonnet  on  to-day.  Fan. 
never  fear !  '' 

"  Then,  if  that's  the  case,  I'll  get  the  house-work 
over  in  good  time  ;  and  I  think  I  won't  be  back  to 
dinner,  father,"  said  his  daughter  resolutely,,  as 
anticipating  objection. 

But  for  its  coating  of  flour  the  miller's  face  would 
have  darkened. 

"  Not  back  to  dinner,  Fan !  And  why  not  ? 
Where  may  you  be  going,  lass,  if  I  may  make  so 
bold  as  ask  ?  " 

She  hesitated  a  moment,  and  then  observed  very 
demurely — 

"  I  took  your  message  up  to  Mr.  Archer's  yester- 
day, and  the  young  gentlemen's  coming  down  to 

fish,  as  you  kindly  invited  of  'em " 

"  I  know — I  know,"  said  he.  "  Well,  lass,  and 
what  then  ?  " 

"  They're  to  be  at  water- side  by  twelve  o'clock, 

and  I'll  engage  they'll  keep  on  tiU  sun-down.    Poor 

little  chaps  !     They'll  be  wanting  their  dinners,  and 

I  thought  I'd  best  step  out  and  take  'em  some." 

"  Poor  little  chaps  I  "  repeated  the  miller.  "Why, 


A  cat's-paw.  83 

one  of  'em  's  six  feet  liigh,  and  t'other  's  nigh 
twenty  years  old  ;  and  Mr.  Egj*emont — that's  him 
as  comes  down  by  times  for  a  smoke  here — well, 
he'll  pull  down  as  heavy  a  weight  as  I  can  ;  and 
I  dare  say,  for  his  years,  he's  nigh  as  sensible. 
They're  grown-up  young  gentlemen,  Fan,  every 
man  of  'em." 

"  They'll  want  their  dinners  all  the  same,"  an- 
swered Fan. 

''  And  they'll  want  you  to  take  'em  their  dinners, 
I  daresay ;  and  want  must  be  their  master  !  "  replied 
the  miller.  '' 1  don't  like  it.  Fan,  I  tell  'ee — I 
don't  like  it.  What  call  have  you  to  go  more  nor  a 
mile  up  water-side  after  three  young  sparks  like 
them  ?  I  may  be  behind  the  times.  Fan — I  daresay 
as  I  am ;  but  it  can't  be  right.  I  don't  like  it,  I 
tell  'ee,  lass,  and  I  won't  have  it !  " 

"I'm  not  a  child,  father,"  answered  the  girl  in 
perfect  good-humour.  ''  I  should  think  I  can  take 
care  of  myself  in  uglier  places  than  Ripley  Lock  ; 
and  I  was  going  on  to  see  the  housekeeper  at  Oak- 
over,  whether  or  no.  However,  if  3'ou  think  well, 
I'll  send  Jane  with  the  basket ;  only  she's  wanted  in 
the  house,  let  alone  that  she's  young  and  giddy  ; 
and  if  I  was  you,  father,  I'd  sooner  trust  me  nor  her." 


84  THE  WHITE  ROSE. 

*^  I  can  get  serving-lasses  by  the  score,'^  answered 
old  Draper  very  grufflj^,  because  a  tear  was  twink- 
ling in  tlie  corner  of  bis  eye,  "  but  I  bave  only  one 
daugbter.  I've  been  a  kind  fatber  to  you,  Fan, 
ever  since  you  and  me  used  to  watcb  tbe  big  wbeel 
togetber  wben  you  was  too  little  to  go  up  tbe  mill- 
steps.  Don't  ye  come  a-flyin'  in  my  face  because 
you've  growed  up  into  a  fine  likely  young  woman — 
don't  ye  now  !  " 

Sbe  was  toucbed  ;  sbe  couldn't  belp  it.  Sbe  went 
round  tbe  table,  and  put  ber  band  on  tbe  old  man's 
sboulder.  For  tbe  moment  sbe  was  willing  to  be  a 
dutiful  and  affectionate  cbild. 

"  You  /fare  been  a  kind  old  daddy,"  sbe  said, 
turning  bis  dusty  face  up  to  kiss  it ;  ''  and  I  wouldn't 
vex  you  for  tbat  kettleful  of  gold.  But  you  won't 
mind  my  stepping  across  to  Oakover — now,  will 
you,  fatber?  And  I'll  be  sure  to  come  back  and 
give  you  your  tea." 

Sbe  knew  exactly  bow  to  manage  bim. 

"  You're  a  good  lass,  I  do  believe,"  said  be,  rising 
from  tbe  table,  "  and  a  sensible  one,  too  ;  maybe, 
more  nor  I  tbink  for.  Well,  tbere'll  be  no  barm  in 
your  taking  a  basket  of  prog,  and  leaving  it  at  tbe 
Lock   for   tbem   young   cbaps.       But   don't  ye  go 


A  cat's-paw.  85 

a-fishin'  along  of  'em,  there's  a  good  lass  !  Folk  tcill 
talk,  my  dear.  "Why,  they'll  kardly  let  me  alone 
when  I  give  Widow  Bolt  a  lift  home  from  market 
in  the  cart.  Kow,  hand  us  a  light  for  the  pip*?,  Fan. 
I've  said  my  say,  so  I'm  off  to  my  work ;  and  I'll 
leave  jow.  to  yours." 

But  Mr.  Draper  shook  his  head,  nevertkeless, 
while  ke  walked  round  by  the  miU- sluice,  smoking 
thoughtfully. 

''  She's  wilful,"  he  muttered — "  wilful ;  and  so 
was  her  mother.  Most  on  'em  's  wilful,  as  I  see. 
I'm  thankful  the  boys  is  doing  so  well.  They're 
good  sons  to  me,  they  are.  And  yet — and  yet  I'd 
sooner  both  on  'em  was  sold  up — I'd  sooner  see  the 
river  run  dry,  and  the  mill  stop  work — I'd  sooner 
lose  the  close,  and  the  meadow,  and  the  house,  and 
the  stock — than  that  anything  should  go  wrong 
with  little  Fan  !  " 

Little  Fan  in  the  meantime,  having  gained  her 
point,  was  in  high  good-humour.  She  sang  merrily 
over  what  trifling  work  she  chose  to  do  about  the 
house,  abstaining  from  harsh  words  to  Jane,  who 
whenever  she  had  a  spare  moment  seemed  to  be 
peeling  potatoes.  She  packed  a  basket  with  eatables, 
and  fiUed  a  bottle  with  wine,  for  the  ano^lers.     Then 


00  THE  WHITE  EOSE. 

she  attired  herself  in  a  very  becoming  dress,  put  on 
a  pair  of  well-fitting  gloves,  not  quite  new,  just 
like  a  real  lad3^'s,  she  told  herself,  and  crowned  the 
whole  with  a  killing  little  bonnet.  Anybody  meet- 
ing Miss  Draper  as  she  sauntered  leisurely  along 
the  river-side  with  her  basket  in  her  hand  would 
have  taken  her  for  the  Hector's  young  wife,  or  the 
Squire's  daughter  at  the  least. 

Even  the  anglers  were  something  dazzled  by  this 
brilliant  apparition.  Burton,  proud  of  his  acquaint- 
ance made  the  day  before,  felt  yet  a  little  abashed 
by  so  fascinating  an  exterior.  Ainslie  scanned  her 
attentive]}^,  but  this,  I  imagine,  chiefly  because  her 
bonnet  reminded  him  of  JN^orah's  ;  while  Dolly,  who 
was  getting  very  hungry,  took  ojff  his  hat  with  a 
polite  bow,  observing  in  a  low  voice,  for  the  benefit 
of  his  companions — 

"  It  was  tlie  miller's  daughter, 
And  she  stoppeth  on€  of  three 
On  the  banks  of  Allan-water — 
How  I  wish  that  it  was  me  !  " 

Miss  Draper's  deportment  in  presence  of  three 
strange  young  gentlemen  was  a  model  of  propriety 
and  good  taste.  She  simply  vouchsafed  a  curtsey,  to 
be  divided  amongst  them ;  ofiered  her  father's  good 


87 

wishes  for  their  sport ;  and  proceeded  to  unpack  her 
basket  without  delay.  *'  For,"  said  she,  ^'  I  have 
no  time  to  spare.  I  am  going  a  little  farther  up- 
stream on  an  errand,  and  will  call  for  the  basket  as 
I  come  back."  JSTeyertheless,  though  her  eyes  seemed 
fastened  on  her  occupation,  she  had  scanned  each  of 
them  from  top  to  toe  in  two  minutes,  and  learned 
the  precise  nature  of  the  ground  on  which  she  was 
about  to  manoeuvre. 

Burton's  name  she  had  already  learnt.  One  glance 
at  Dolly  Egremont's  jolly  face  satisfied  her  that  with 
him  she  could  have  no  concern.  It  must  be  the  slim, 
well-made  lad  with  the  dark  eyes  and  pleasant  smile, 
whom  she  had  engaged  to  subjugate.  Xo  disagree- 
able duty  neither,  thought  Miss  Fanny  ;  so  she  set 
about  it  with  a  will. 

Leaving  her  basket  in  charge  of  Dolly,  who 
pledged  himself  with  great  earnestness  for  its  safety, 
she  walked  leisurely  up-stream,  and  was  pleased  to 
observe  that  the  three  anglers  separated  at  once  ;  his 
two  companions  choosing  different  sides  of  the  river 
below  the  mill,  while  Gerard  Ainslie  followed  the 
upward  bend  of  the  stream,  not  having  yet  put  his 
rod  together,  nor  unwound  the  casting-line  from  his 
hat.     He  was  thinking  but  little  of  his  fisliing,  this 


88  THE  WHITE    ROSE. 

infatuated  young  man  ;  certainly  not  tlie  least  of 
Miss  Fanny  Draper.  No.  The  gleam  on  the  water, 
the  whisper  of  the  sedges,  the  swallows  dipping  and 
wheeling  at  his  feet,  all  the  soft  harmony  of  the 
landscape,  all  the  tender  beauty  of  the  early  sum- 
mer,— what  were  these  but  the  embodiment  of  his 
ideal  ?  And  his  ideal,  he  fancied,  was  far  away 
yonder,  across  the  marshes,  thinking,  perhaps,  at 
that  very  moment,  of  him  !  She  was  not  across  the 
marshes,  as  we  shall  presently  see,  but  within  half 
a  mile  of  where  he  stood.  Nevertheless,  what  would 
love  be  without  illusion  ?  And  is  not  the  illusion  a 
necessary  condition  of  the  love  ?  Look  at  a  soap- 
bubble  glowing  in  the  richest  tints  of  all  the  gems 
of  earth  and  sea.  Presently,  behold,  it  bursts. 
What  becomes  of  the  tints  ?  and  where,  oh  !  where 
is  the  bubble  ? 

Gerard  was  roused  from  his  dreams  by  the  rustle 
of  a  feminine  gannent,  and  the  sudden  appearance 
of  the  miller's  daughter  lying  in  wait  for  him  at  the 
very  first  stile  he  had  to  cross.  She  knew  better 
than  to  give  a  little  half- suppressed  start,  as  when 
she  met  Vandeleur,  or  to  display  any  of  the  affecta- 
tions indulged  in  by  young  women  of  her  class  ;  for, 
wherever  she  picked  it  up,  Miss  Draper  had  acquired 


A  cat's-paw.  89 

considerable  knowledge  of  masculine  nature,  and 
was  well  aware  that  while  timidity  and  innocence 
are  efficient  weapons  against  the  old,  there  is  nothing 
like  cool  superiority  to  overawe  and  impose  upon  the 
young. 

She  took  his  rod  out  of  his  hand,  as  a  matter  of 
course,  while  he  vaulted  the  stile,  and  observed 
quietly — "  I  saw  you  coming,  Mr.  Ainslie,  and  so 
I  waited  for  you.  I  suppose  as  you're  not  much 
acquainted  with  our  river  ;  there's  a  pool,  scarce 
twenty  yards  below  the  bridge,  yonder,  where  you'll 
catch  a  basket  of  fish  in  ten  minutes,  if  you've  any 
luck." 

She  looked  very  pretty  in  the  gleams  of  sunlight 
with  her  heightened  colour,  and  her  black  hair  set 
off  by  the  transparency  she  called  a  bonnet.  Even 
to  a  man  in  love  she  was  no  despicable  companion 
for  an  hour's  fly-fishing ;  and  Gerard  thanked  her 
heartily,  asking  her,  if  their  ways  lay  together,  to 
walk  on  with  him,  and  point  out  the  place.  His 
smile  was  very  winning,  his  voice  low  and  pleasant, 
his  manner  to  women  soft  and  deferential — such  a 
manner  as  comes  amiss  with  neither  high  nor  low : 
to  a  duchess,  fascinating,  to  a  dairy-maid,  simply 
irresistible.     Miss  Draper  stole  a  look  at  him  from 


90  THE  WHITE  ROSE. 

under  her  black  eye-lashes,  and  liked  her  job  more 
and  more. 

"  I'll  come  with  you,  and  welcome,"  said  she, 
frankly.  "  The  walk's  nothing  to  me  ;  I'm  used  to 
walking.  I'm  a  country-bred  girl,  you  know,  Mr. 
Ainslie,  though  I've  seen  a  deal  of  life  since  I  left 
the  Mill." 

''  Then  you  don't  live  at  the  Mill  ?  "  said  Gerard, 
absently,  for  that  unlucky  bonnet  had  taken  his 
thoughts  across  the  marshes  again. 

*'  I  do  when  I'm  at  home,"  she  answered,  ''  but 
I'm  not  often  at  home.  I've  got  my  own  bread  to 
make,  Mr.  Ainslie,  if  I  don't  want  to  be  a  burden 
to  father.  And  I  don't  neither.  I'm  not  like  a 
real  lady,  you  know,  that  can  sit  with  her  hands 
before  her,  and  do  nothing.  But  you  mustn't  think 
the  worse  of  me  for  that,  must  you  ?" 

"  Of  course  not !  "  he  answered,  as  what  else  could 
he  answer  ?  wondering  the  while  why  this  handsome 
black-eyed  girl  should  thus  have  selected  him  from 
his  companions  for  her  confidences. 

"  I  shouldn't  be  here  now,"  she  continued,  ^'  if  it 
wasn't  to  see  how  father  gets  on.  There's  nothing 
but  father  to  bring  me  back  to  such  a  dull  place  as 
Kipley.     Yet,    dull   as   it   is,    I  can  tell  you,   Mr. 


A  cat's-paw.  91 

Ainslie,  you  must  mind  what  you're  at  if  you  don't 
want  to  be  talked  about !  " 

"  I  suppose  you  and  I  would  be  talked  about  now," 
said  he,  laughing,  *'  if  we  could  be  seen." 

"  I  don't  mind,  if  you  don't !  "  she  answered,  look- 
ing full  in  his  eyes.  "  Well,  our  walk's  over  now, 
at  any  rate.  There's  the  bridge,  and  here's  the 
pool.  I've  seen  my  brothers  stand  on  that  stone, 
and  pull  'em  out  a  dozen  in  an  hour  !  " 

There  was  something  of  regret  in  her  tone  when 
she  announced  the  termination  of  their  walk  that 
was  sufficiently  pleasant  to  his  ear.  He  could  not 
help  looking  gratified,  and  she  saw  it ;  so  she  added, 
''  If  you'll  put  your  rod  together,  I'll  sort  your  tackle 
the  while.  They've  queer  fancies,  have  our  fish,  all 
the  way  from  here  to  Eipley  Lock  ;  and  they  won't 
always  take  the  same  fly  you  see  on  the  water. 
They're  feeding  now — look  !  " 

So  the  two  sat  down  tofi:ether  on  a  laro:e  stone 
under  a  willow,  with  the  stream  rippling  at  their 
feet,  and  the  hungry  trout  leaping  like  rain-drops, 
all  across  its  surface — in  the  shadow  of  the  opposite 
bank,  in  the  pool  by  the  water-lilies,  under  the 
middle  arch  of  the  bridge,  everywhere  just  beyond 
the  compass  of  a  trout-rod  and  its  usual  length  of 


92  THE  WHITE  ROSE. 

line.  Gerard's  eye  began  to  glisten,  for  he  was  a 
fisherman  to  the  backbone.  He  had  put  his  rod 
together,  and  was  running  the  tackle  through  its 
top  joint  when  his  companion  started  and  turned 
pale. 

"  Is  that  thunder  ?  "  said  she.     "  Listen !  " 

"  Thunder  !  "  repeated  the  busy  sportsman,  con- 
temptuously. "  Pooh  !  nonsense  !  It's  only  a 
carriage.'' 

Miss  Draper  was  really  afraid  of  thunder,  and  felt 
much  relieved. 

"  Haven't  you  a  green  drake  ?  "  she  asked,  hunt- 
ing busily  over  his  fly-book  for  that  killing  artifice. 

He  stooped  low^to  help  her,  and  one  of  the  hooks 
in  the  casting-line  round  his  hat  caught  in  her  pretty 
little  bonnet.  They  were  fairly  tied  together  by  the 
ears,  a  position  that,  without  being  at  all  unpleasant, 
was  ridiculous  in  the  extreme.  She  smiled  sweetly 
in  the  comely  face  so  close  to  her  own,  and  both 
burst  out  laughing.  At  that  moment  a  ponj^ -carriage 
was  driven  rapidly  across  the  bridge  immediately 
over  against  them.  Gerard's  head  was  turned  away, 
but  its  occupants  must  have  had  a  full  view  of  the 
situation,  and  an  excellent  opportunity  of  identify- 
ing the  laughers.     The  lady  who  drove  it  immedi- 


A  cat's-paw.  93 

ately  lashed  her  ponies  into  a  gallop,  bowing  her 
head  low  over  her  hands  as  if  in  pain. 

Gerard  sprang  to  his  feet. 

"  Did  you  see  that  carriage,  Miss  Draper  ? ''  he 
exclaimed  hurriedly.  "  Had  it  a  pair  of  cream- 
coloured  ponies  ?  " 

"  Cream-coloured  ponies  I  "  repeated  Fanny,  inno- 
cently. "  I  believe  they  was.  I  think  as  it  were 
Miss  TVelby,  from  Marston  Rectory." 

His  violent  start  had  broken  the  casting-line,  and 
he  was  free.  Like  a  deer,  he  sprang  off  in  pursuit 
of  the  carriage,  running  at  top-speed  for  nearly  a 
quarter  of  a  mile.  But  the  cream-coloured  pcnies 
were  in  good  condition  and  well-bred, — with  a  sore 
and  jealous  heart  immediately  behind  them,  which 
controlled,  moreover,  a  serviceable  driving- whip. 
He  could  never  overtake  them,  but  laid  himself 
down  panting  and  exhausted  on  the  grass  by  the 
road-side,  after  a  two-mile  chase. 

When  Gerard  went  back  for  his  rod,  Miss  Draper 
was  gone ;  but  he  had  no  heart  for  any  more  fishing 
the  rest  of  that  afternoon. 


CHAPTER  YIIL 


HOT       CHESTNUTS. 


Astounded  at  her  companion's  -tmceremonious  de- 
j)arture,  the  miller's  daughter  stood  for  a  while 
motionless,  her  bright  face  darkening  into  an  ex- 
pression of  vexation,  not  to  say  disgust.  Half- 
immersed,  the  neglected  trout-rod  lay  at  her  feet, 
paying  its  line  out  slowly  to  the  gentle  action  of 
the  stream.  Something  in  the  click  of  the  reel 
perhaps  aroused  the  thriftier  instincts  of  her  nature. 
She  stooped  to  extricate  rod  and  tackle  with  no 
unpractised  hand,  laid  them  on  the  bank  ready 
for  his  return,  and  then  sat  down  again  to  think. 
Till  within  the  last  few  minutes  Miss  Draper  had 
been  well  pleased.  Not  averse  to  flirting,  she  would 
have  consented,  no  doubt,  to  take  in  hand  any  of 
Mr.  Archer's  young  gentlemen  ;  but  her  walk  with 


HOT   CHESTNUTS.  95 

Gerard  Ainslle,  though  shorter,  was  also  sweeter 
than  she  expected.  The  refinement  of  his  tone,  his 
gestures,  his  manner  altogether,  was  extremely  fasci- 
nating, because  so  unlike  anything  to  which  she  was 
accustomed.  "  He's  not  so  handsome  as  t'other," 
soliloquised  Miss  Draper,  ''  for  I  make  no  count  of 
the  fat  one  "  (thus  putting  Dolly  ignominiously  out 
of  the  race),  "  but  his  hair  is  as  soft  as  a  lady's,  and 
his  eyes  is  like  velvet.  He's  a  nice  chap,  that ! 
but  whatever  made  him  start  away  like  mad  after 
Miss  Welby  and  her  ponj^- carriage  ?  I  wonder 
whether  he'll  come  back  again.  I  wonder  what 
odds  it  makes  to  me  whether  he  comes  back  or  no  ? 
"Well,  I've  no  call  to  be  at  the  mill  till  tea-time. 
I'll  just  step  on  and  gather  a  few  violets  at  Ash- 
bank.  Perhaps  the  j^oung  man  would  like  a  posy 
to  take  with  him  when  he  goes  home  !  " 

She  recollected,  almost  with  shame,  how  willingly 
she  had  given  away  another  posy  of  violets  to  his 
fellow-pupil  so  short  a  time  ago. 

Ashbank  was  a  narrow  belt  of  wood  separating 
the  meadow  from  the  high-road.  She  had  gathered 
many  a  wild  flower  under  its  tall  trees,  had  listened 
to  many  a  rustic  compliment,  borne  her  fall  share 
of  many  a  rustic  flirtation,  in  its  sheltering  depths. 


96  THE  WHITE  ROSE. 

For  tiie  first  time  in  her  life  she  wished  it  otherwise  ; 
she  wished  she  had  held  her  head  a  little  higher, 
kept  her  clownish  admirers  at  a  more  respectful 
distance.  Such  conquests,  she  now  felt,  were  any- 
thing but  conducive  to  self-respect.  She  rose  from 
her  seat  impatiently,  and  it  was  with  a  heightened 
colour  and  quick,  irregular  steps,  that  she  trod  the 
winding  footpath  leading  to  the  wood. 

She  had  never  before  thought  the  scenery  about 
Ripley  and  its  neighbourhood  half  so  pretty.  To- 
day there  was  a  fresher  verdure  in  the  meadow, 
softer  whispers  in  the  woodland,  a  fairer  promise  in 
the  quiet  sky.  She  could  not  have  analysed  her 
feelings,  was  scarce  conscious  of  them,  far  less  could 
she  have  expressed  their  nature  ;  yet  she  felt  that 
for  her,  as  for  all  of  us,  there  are  moments  when 

' '  A  livelier  emerald  twinkles  in  tlie  grass, 
A  purer  sapphire  melts  into  tlie  sea  ;" 

and  this  was  one  of  them. 

There  is  a  certain  fire  dreaded  by  burnt  children, 
and  often  kindled  by  the  tiniest  spark,  at  which  it 
is  unspeakable  comfort  to  warm  the  hands,  but  with 
the  glow  of  which  people  never  seem  satisfied  till 
they  have  burnt  their  fingers.  Like  other  fires,  it 
should  be  poked  sparingly,  is  easily  smothered  with 


HOT   CHESTNUTS.  97 

over-mucli  fuel,  and  burns,  I  think,  fiercest  in  the 
hardest  weather.  Also,  though  a  good  servant,  it  is 
a  bad  master  ;  carefully  to  be  watched,  lest  it  spread 
to  a  conflagration ;  scarring  deep  where  it  scorches, 
to  leave  the  sufferer  marked  and  disfigured  for  a 
life- time. 

Of  that  fire  the  miller's  daughter  had  been  hitherto 
unconscious.  She  had  always  stood,  as  yet,  on  higher 
•ground  than  those  of  the  other  sex,  whatever  their 
station,  on  whom  she  had  thought  it  worth  while  to 
exercise  her  fascinations.  It  was  capital  fun  then. 
It  was  all  mirth,  merry-making,  rivalry,  and  gra- 
tified vanity.  "Was  it  good  fun  now?  She  had 
already  asked  herself  that  question,  though  she  had 
scarcely  spent  half  an  hour  in  the  society  of  her  new 
acquaintance.  Already  she  had  answered,  Xo  !  It 
was  something  better  than  fun,  this — something 
deeper,  sweeter,  and  far  more  dangerous.  The  first 
time  a  swimmer  trusts  to  his  newly- acquired  art,  he 
exults,  no  doubt,  in  the  excitement  of  his  situation, 
the  development  of  his  power ;  but  want  of  confi- 
dence in  himself  is  the  sure  symptom  that  j^roves  to 
him  he  is  out  of  his  depth.  So  was  it  now  with 
Fanny.  She  longed  for  a  mirror  in  which  to  arrange 
her  hair,  dishevelled  by  the  south  wind.     She  con- 

VOL.  I.  H 


98  THE  WHITE  ROSE. 

demned  the  bonnet  she  had  thought  so  killing  an 
hour  ago ;  she  mistrusted  her  very  muslin  ;  she 
thought  her  gloves  looked  soiled  and  her  boots  un- 
tidy. She  wondered  whether  he  had  detected  free- 
dom in  her  manner,  want  of  education  in  her  speech. 
She  had  often  before  wished  she  was  a  lady,  but  it 
was  only  that  she  might  roll  in  a  carriage,  wear 
expensive  dresses,  and  order  about  a  quantity  of 
servants.  Now  she  felt  as  if  she  had  over-rated  the 
value  of  all  these  things,  that  silks,  and  splendour, 
and  liveries  were  not  the  sole  accessories  of  good 
breeding  ;  and  yet  she  wanted  to  be  a  lady  more 
than  ever.  Why  ?  Because  Mr.  Ainslie  was  a 
gentleman. 

Thus,  wishing,  and  dreaming,  and  repining,  walk- 
ing fast  all  the  while,  her  colour  was  higher  and 
her  temper  less  equal  than  usual  when  she  reached 
the  shadows  of  Ashbank,  and  climbed  the  stile  she 
had  crossed  so  often  on  similar  expeditions  after 
hazel-nuts  or  wild  flowers  in  days  gone  by.  Sur- 
mounting the  obstacle  less  carefully  than  she  might 
have  done  had  she  expected  a  looker-on,  it  cooled 
neither  her  face  nor  her  temper  to  find  Mr.  Yande- 
leur  strolling  quietly  through  the  copse,  smoking  a 
cigar  with  his  usual  air  of  careless   good-humoui'ed 


HOT   CHESTNUTS.  99 

superiority.  She  bounced  off  tlie  foot-board,  and 
putting  her  bead  down,  tried  to  pass  bim  without 
speaking,  but  he  stretched  bis  arms  across  the  path, 
and  stopped  her  with  a  laugh. 

Her  eyes  flashed  angrily  when  she  looked  up  in 
bis  face. 

"I  do  believe  as  you're  the  devil  !"  exclaimed 
the  girl,  in  a  voice  that  seemed  to  denote  she  was  in 
earnest. 

'^  I  appreciate  the  compliment.  Miss  Fanny,"  said 
he,  removing  the  cigar  from  his  mouth.  "  But  I 
assure  you  I  am  not,  all  the  same.  You  are  an 
angel  though,  my  dear.  I  did  not  expect  you  for  at 
least  an  hour,  and  as  I  hate  waiting,  I  am  grateful 
for  your  early  appearance." 

"  I  shouldn't  have  come  at  all  only  I  promised," 
answered  Miss  Fanny  in  a  disturbed  voice.  "  And, 
there,  I  wish  I  hadn't  come  at  all  as  it  is  I  I  wish 
I  hadn't  met  you  in  Ripley  Lane  I  I  wish  I'd  never 
set  eyes  on  you  in  my  life  I  I  wish — what's  the  use 
of  wishing  ?  " 

"What,  indeed?"  replied  Yandeleur.  ''I  should 
have  lost  a  very  agreeable  little  acquaintance  ;  you, 
a  tolerably  useful  friend.  Something  has  gone 
wrong.  Miss    Fanny,   I'm    afraid.     You  seem    put 


100  THE  WHITE  ROSE. 

out,  and  it's  very  becoming,  I  give  you  my  honour. 
Sit  down,  and  tell  us  all  about  it." 

"  I'll  not  sit  down,  Mr.  Vandeleur,"  protested 
tbe  miller's  daughter,  glancing  anxiously  towards 
the  river  she  had  left.  "  But  I'll  walk  as  far  as  the 
end  of  the  wood  with  you.  I  suppose  as  you've  got 
something  particular  to  say,  since  you've  kept  your 
appointment  so  correct." 

"  Quite  right,"  he  answered.  "  Something  yqyj 
particular,  and  it  won't  bear  delay  neither.  There's 
no  time  to  be  lost.  I  want  to  know  how  you're 
getting  on  ?  " 

Miss  Draper  controlled  herself  with  an  effort,  and 
spoke  in  a  hard  clear  voice. 

"  I  did  what  you  told  me.  I  went  to  Mr.  Archer's 
yesterday,  and  made  acquaintance  with  the  young 
gentleman  to-day." 

"  With  Gerard  Ainslie  ?  "  he  asked. 

She  nodded,  and  her  colour  rose. 

*'  What  do  you  think  of  him  ?  "  continued  Yande- 
leur,  smiling. 

"  I  don't  think  about  him  at  all,"  she  flashed  out. 
"  Oh,  Mr.  Vandeleur,  it's  a  shame ;  it's  a  shame  ! 
And  it  can't  be  done  neither  !  I  do  beKeve  as  he's 
one  to  love  the  very  ground  a  girl  walks  on !  " 


HOT   CHESTNUTS.  101 

The  smile  deepened  on  his  face.  "Likely  enougli/' 
said  he  quietly,  "but  that  won't  last  long  now  he 
has  seen  you.^^ 

She  looked  a  little  better  pleased.  "  Such  non- 
sense ! ''  she  exclaimed.     "  What  can  I  do  ?  " 

*'  This  is  what  you  can  do,"  replied  Yandeleur, 
neyer  lifting  his  eyes  higher  than  her  boots,  "  and 
nobody  else  about  here,  or  I  should  not  have  asked 
you.  You  can  detach  the  boy  from  his  foolish  fancy 
as  easily  as  I  can  break  off  this  convolvulus.  Look 
here.  If  it  won't  unwind,  it  must  be  torn  asunder. 
If  you  can't  work  with  fair  means,  you  must  use 
foul." 

While  he  spoke  he  tore  the  growing  creepers 
savagely  with  his  fingers,  laughing  more  than  the 
occasion  seemed  to  warrant.  Though  she  could  not 
see  how  his  eyes  gleamed,  she  wondered  at  this 
exuberance  of  mirth.  Strangely  enough,  it  seemed 
to  sober  and  subdue  her. 

"  Tell  me  what  to  do,  sir,"  said  she  quietly,  with 
a  paler  cheek.  "  You've  been  a  good  friend  to  me, 
and  I'm  not  an  ungrateful  girl,  Mr.  Yandeleur, 
indeed." 

"  You  must  attach  young  Ainslie  to  yourself,"  he 
replied  in  the  most  matter-of-course  tone.   "It  ought 


102  THE  WHITE  ROSE. 

not  to  be  a  difficult  job,  and  I  shouldn't  fancy  it  can 
be  an  unpleasant  one.  Tell  the  truth  now,  Miss 
Fan,  wouldn't  you  like  to  have  the  silly  boy  over 
head  and  ears  in  love  with  you  ?  " 

She  turned  her  face  away,  and  made  no  answer. 
Looking  under  her  bonnet,  he  saw  that  she  was 
crying. 

"  Do  you  think  I  have  no  self-respect  ? "  she 
asked,  in  a  broken  voice. 

"I  know  /haven't,"  he  answered,  ''  but  that's  no 
rule  for  you.  Look  ye  here.  Miss  Fanny,  business 
is  business.  I  shouldn't  have  brought  you  here 
without  something  to  say.  When  you've  done  cry- 
ing, perhaps  you'll  be  ready  to  hear  it." 

"I'm  ready  now,"  she  replied,  with  a  steady  look 
in  his  face  that  he  did  not  endure  for  half-a-second. 

"  I  gave  you  a  month  when  we  met  the  other 
evening,  but  I've  altered  my  mind  since  then.  If 
you'll  halve  the  time,  I'll  double  the  money.  There, 
you  won't  meet  so  fair  an  offer  as  that  every  day  in  a 
market.  AATiat  say  you.  Miss  Fan  ?  Are  you  game?" 

She  was  walking  with  her  hands  clasped,  and 
twined  her  fingers  together  as  if  in  some  deep 
mental  conflict,  but  showed  no  other  sign  of  distress. 

"  I  don't  like  it,"  she  said  quietly,  but  in  clear 


HOT  CHESTNUTS.  103 

forcible  tones ;  "  I  don't  like  it.  I  could  do  it  better 
by  either  of  tbe  others.  At  least,  I  mean  they 
seem  as  though  they  wouldn't  be  quite  so  much  in 
earnest.  And  it  looks  such  a  cruel  job,  too,  if  so  be 
as  the  young  lady  likes  him — and  like  him  she 
must,  I'm  sure.  Who  is  the  young  lady,  3Ir. 
Vandeleur  ?  You  promised  as  you'd  teU  me  to- 
day." 

It  was  true  enough.  Curiosity  is  a  strong  stimu- 
lant, and  he  had  reserved  this  part  of  the  scheme 
to  ensure  Miss  Draper's  punctuality  in  keeping  her 
appointment. 

"The  young  lady,"  replied  Yandeleur.  "I 
thought  you  might  have  guessed.  Miss  TVelby,  of 
Mars  ton." 

"  Has  Miss  Welby  got  a  sweetheart  ?  "  exclaimed 
the  other  in  an  accent  of  mingled  jealousy,  exulta- 
tion, and  pique.  "  Well,  you  do  surprise  me.  And 
him  !     ^"VTij^  didn't  you  tell  me  before  ?  " 

Why,  indeed  ?  He  found  her  much  more  manage- 
able now.  She  listened  to  his  instructions  with  the 
utmost  deference.  She  even  added  little  feminine 
improvements  of  her  own.  She  would  do  her  very 
best,  she  said,  and  that  as  quickly  as  might  be,  to 
further  all  his  schemes.    And  she  meant  it  too.    She 


104  THE  WHITE  ROSE. 

was  in  earnest  now.  Slie  understood  it  all.  She 
knew  why  he  had  broken  away  from  her  so  rudely, 
and  started  after  the  pony-carriage  like  a  madman. 
It  was  Miss  Welby,  was  it  ?  And  he  was  courting 
her,  was  he  ?  Then  Fanny  Draper  learned  for  the 
first  time  why  the  afternoon  had  been  so  different 
from  the  morning.  She  felt  now  that  she  herself 
loved  Gerard  Ainslie  recklessly,  as  she  had  neyer 
loved  before.  And  it  was  to  be  a  struggle,  a  match, 
a  deadly  rivalry  between  herself  and  this  young 
lady,  who  had  all  the  odds  in  her  favour,  of  station, 
manners,  dress,  accomplishments,  every  advantage 
over  herself  except  a  fierce,  strong  will,  and  a  reck- 
less, undisciplined  heart. 

When  Yandeleur  emerged  alone  from  Ashbank 
on  his  way  home  he  had  no  reason  to  be  dissatisfied 
with  the  ardour  of  his  partisan.  He  was  not  easily 
astonished,  as  he  used  often  to  declare,  but  on  the 
present  occasion  he  shook  his  head  wisely  more  than 
once,  and  exclaimed  in  an  audible  voice — 

"Well,  I  always  thought  Miss  Fan  wicked  enough 
for  anything,  but  I'd  no  idea  even  she  could  have  so 
much  devil  in  her  as  that  I  '* 


CHAPTER  IX. 


A    PASSAGE    OF    ARMS. 


Old  "  Grits  "  was  seldom  wrong  about  the  weather. 
The  wind  remained  southerly,  and  yet  the  rain  held 
off.  The  day  after  the  fishing  party  was  bright 
and  calm.  Nevertheless,  it  smiled  on  two  very 
unhappy  people  within  a  circle  of  three  miles.  The 
least  to  be  pitied  of  this  unlucky  pair  was  Ainslie, 
inasmuch  as  his  was  an  expected  grievance,  and  in 
no  way  took  him  unawares. 

When  Mr.  Archer  granted  their  release  the  day 
before,  it  was  on  the  express  stipulation  that  the 
succeeding  afternoon  as  well  as  morning  should  be 
devoted  to  study  by  his  pupils,  and  Gerard  knew  that 
it  would  be  impossible  for  him  to  cross  the  marshes 
for  the  shortest  glimpse  of  his  ladye-love  till  another 
twenty-four  hours  had  elapsed.  He  could  have  borne 
his  imprisonment  more  patiently  had  he  not  been 


106  THE  WHITE  ROSE. 

SO  disappointed  in  his  ctase  after  tlie  pony- carriage, 
had  he  not  also  felt  some  faint,  shadowy  misgivings 
that  its  driver  might  have  disapproved  of  the  posi- 
tion in  which  she  saw  him  placed. 

It  was  bad  enough  to  miss  an  unexpected  chance 
of  seeing  Norah  ;  but  to  think  that  she  could  believe 
him  capable  of  familiarity  with  such  an  individual 
as  Miss  £)raper,  and  not  to  be  able  to  justify  him- 
self, because,  forsooth,  he  was  deficient  in  modem 
history,  was  simply  maddening.  What  was  the 
Seven  Years'  War,  with  all  its  alternations,  to  the 
contest  raging  in  his  own  breast  ?  How  could  he 
take  the  slightest  interest  in  Frederic  the  Great, 
and  Ziethen,  and  Seidlitz,  and  the  rest  of  the  Prus- 
sian generals,  while  Norah  was  within  a  league, 
and  yet  out  of  reach  ?  "  What  must  she  think  of 
him  ?  "  he  wondered  ;  "  and  what  was  she  about  ?  " 

If  Miss  Welby  had  been  asked  what  she  was  about, 
she  would  have  declared  she  was  gathering  flowers 
for  the  house.  Anybody  else  would  have  said  she 
was  roaming  here  and  there  in  an  aimless,  restless 
manner,  with  a  pair  of  scissors  and  a  basket.  Any- 
body else  might  have  wondered  why  she  could  settle 
to  no  occupation,  remain  in  no  one  place  for  more 
than  five  minutes  at  a  time — why  her  cheek  was 


A  PASSAGE  OF  ARMS.  107 

pale  and  her  eyes  looked  sleepless ;  above  all,  why 
about  ber  lips  was  set  that  scornful  smile  which, 
like  a  hard  frost  breaking  up  in  rain,  seldom  softens 
but  with  a  flood  of  tears. 

Norah  knew  the  reason — very  bitter  and  very 
painful  it  was.  We,  who  have  gone  through  the 
usual  training  of  life,  and  come  out  of  it  more  or  less 
hardened  into  the  cynicism  we  call  good  sense,  or 
the  indolence  we  dignify  as  resignation,  can  scarcely 
appreciate  the  punishment  inflicted  by  these  imagi- 
nary distresses  on  the  young.  Jealousy  is  hard  to 
bear  even  for  us,  encouraged  by  example,  cased  in 
selfishness,  and  fortified  by  a  hundi^ed  worldly 
aphorisms.  We  shrug  our  shoulders,  we  even  force 
a  laugh  ;  we  talk  of  human  weakness,  male  vanity 
or  female  fickleness,  as  the  case  may  be  ;  we  summon 
pride  to  our  aid  and  intrench  ourselves  in  an  assumed 
humility ;  or  we  plead  our  philosophy,  which  means 
we  do  not  care  very  much  for  anything  but  our 
dinners.  Perhaps,  after  all,  our  feelings  are  blunted. 
Perhaps — shame  on  us  I — we  experience  the  slightest 
possible  relief  from  thraldom,  the  faintest  ray  of  satis- 
faction in  reflecting  that  we,  too,  have  our  right  to 
change ;  that  for  us,  at  no  distant  period,  will  open 
the  fresh  excitement  of  a  fresh  pursuit. 


108  THE  WHITE  ROSE. 

But  with  a  young  girl  suffering  from  disappoint- 
ment in  her  first  affections  there  are  no  such  counter- 
irritants  as  these.  She  steps  at  once  out  of  her  fairy- 
land into  a  cold,  bleak,  hopeless  world.  It  is  not 
that  her  happiness  is  gone,  her  feelings  outraged, 
her  vanity  humbled  to  the  dust — but  her  trust  is 
broken.  Hitherto  she  has  believed  in  good ;  now 
she  says  bitterly  there  is  no  good  on  the  face  of  the 
earth.  She  has  made  for  herself  an  image,  which 
she  has  draped  like  a  god,  and,  behold !  the  image 
is  an  illusion,  after  all — not  even  a  stock  or  a  stone, 
but  a  mist,  a  vapour,  a  phantom  that  has  passed  away 
and  left  a  blank  which  all  creation  seems  unable  to 
fill  up.  It  is  hard  to  lose  the  love  itself,  but  the  cruel 
suffering  is,  that  the  love  has  wound  itself  round 
every  trifle  of  her  dailj^  life.  Yesterday  the  petty 
annoyance  could  not  vex  her  ;  yesterday  the  homely 
pleasure,  steeped  in  that  hidden  consciousness, 
became  a  perfect  joy.  And  to-day  it  is  all  over ! 
To-day  there  is  a  mockery  in  the  sunbeam,  "a  wail 
of  hopeless  sorrow  in  the  breeze.  Those  gaudy 
flowers  do  but  dazzle  her  with  their  unmeaning 
glare,  and  the  scent  of  the  standard-roses  would  go 
near  to  break  her  heart,  but  that  she  feels  she  has 
neither  hope  nor  heart  left. 


A  PASSAGE  OF  ARMS.  109 

Norah.  Welby  liad  been  at  least  balf-an-liour  in 
the  garden,  and  one  sprig  of  geranium  constituted  tlie 
whole  spoils  of  her  basket.  It  was  a  comfort  to  be 
told  by  a  servant  that  a  young  woman  was  waiting 
to  speak  with  her.  In  her  first  keen  pangs  she  was 
disposed,  like  some  woimded  animal,  to  bound  rest- 
lessly from  place  to  place,  to  seek  relief  in  change 
of  scene  or  attitude.  They  had  not  yet  subsided 
into  the  dull,  dead  ache  that  prompts  the  sufierer 
to  hide  away  in  a  corner  and  lie  there,  unnoticed 
and  motionless  in  the  very  exhaustion  of  pain. 

Even  a  London  footman  is  not  generally  quick- 
sighted,  and  Mr.  Welby's  was  a  country-servant  all 
over.  [N'evertheless,  Thomas  roused  himself  from 
his  reflections,  whatever  they  might  be,  and  noticed 
that  his  young  mistress  looked  ''uncommon  queer," 
as  he  expressed  it,  when  he  announced  her  visitor. 
She  did  not  seem  to  understand  till  he  had  spoken 
twice,  and  then  put  her  hand  wearily  to  her  forehead, 
while  she  repeated,  vaguely — 

*'  A  young  woman  waiting,  Thomas  ?  Did  she 
give  any  name  ?  " 

''  It's  the  young  woman  from  the  Mill,*'  answered 
Thomas,  who  would  have  scorned  to  usher  a  person 
of  Miss  Draper's  rank  into  his  young  mistress's  pre- 


110  THE  WHITE  ROSE. 

sence  with  any  of  the  forms  he  considered  proper  to 
visitors  of  a  higher  standing,  and  who  simply  nodded 
his  head  in  the  direction  indicated  for  the  benefit  of 
the  new  arrival,  observing  without  further  cere- 
mony— 

"  Miss  Welby's  in  the  garden.  Come,  look  sharp ! 
That's  the  road." 

And  now  indeed  ^N^orah's  whole  countenance  and 
deportment  altered  strangely  from  what  it  had  been 
a  few  minutes  ago.  Her  proud  little  head  went 
up  like  the  crest  of  a  knight  who  hears  the  trumpet 
pealing  for  the  onset.  There  even  came  a  colour 
into  her  fair,  smooth  cheek,  before  so  pale  and  wan. 
Her  deep  eyes  flashed  and  glowed  through  the  long, 
dark  lashes,  and  her  sweet  lips  closed  firm  and  re- 
solute over  the  small,  white,  even  teeth.  Women 
have  a  strange  power  of  subduing  their  emotions 
which  has  been  denied  to  the  stronger  and  less 
impressionable  sex ;  also,  when  the  attack  has  com- 
menced, and  it  is  time  to  begin  fighting  in  good 
earnest,  they  get  their  armour  on  and  betake  them 
to  their  skill  of  fence  with  a  rapidity  that  to  our 
slower  perceptions  seems  as  unnatural  as  it  is 
alarming. 

The  most  practised   duellist   that  ever   stood  on 


A  PASSAGE  OF  ARMS.  Ill 

guard  miglit  have  taken  a  lesson  from  the  attitude 
of  cool,  vigilant,  uncompromising  defiance  with 
which  Norah  received  her  visitor. 

The  latter,  too,  was  prepared  for  battle.  Hers, 
however,  was  an  aggressive  mode  of  warfare  which 
requires  far  less  skill,  courage,  or  tactics,  than  to 
remain  on  the  defensive  ;  and,  never  lacking  in  con- 
fidence, she  had  to-day  braced  all  her  energies  for 
the  encounter.  Nothing  could  be  simpler  than  her 
appearance,  more  respectful  than  her  manner,  more 
demure  than  her  curtsey,  as  she  accosted  Miss 
Welby  with  her  eyes  cast  down  to  a  dazzling  bed 
of  scarlet  geraniums  at  her  feet. 

The  two  girls  formed  no  bad  specimens  of  their 
respective  classes  of  beauty,  while  thus  confronting 
each  other — K^orah's  chiselled  features,  graceful 
head,  and  high  bearing,  contrasting  so  fairly  with 
the  comely  face  and  bright  physical  charms  of  the 
miller's  daughter. 

"  It's  about  the  time  of  our  Ripley  children's 
school-feast.  Miss  Welby,"  said  the  latter  ;  ^'  I  made 
so  bold  as  to  step  up  and  ask  whether  you  would 
arrange  about  the  tea  as  usual." 

Nor  ah  looked  very  pale,  but  there  was  a  ring  like 
steel  in  her  voice  while  she  replied — 


112  THE  WHITE  ROSE. 

"  I  expected  jou,  Fanny.  I  knew  you  liad  come 
liome,  for  I  saw  you  yesterday." 

Fanny  assumed  an  admirable  air  of  unconscious- 
ness. 

"  Eeally,  miss,"  said  she.  "  Well,  now,  I  was  up 
water-side  in  the  afternoon,  and  I  did  make  sure  it 
was  your  carriage  as  passed  oyer  "Ripley  Bridge." 

It  seemed  not  much  of  an  opening;  such  as  it  was, 
however,  Miss  Welby  took  advantage  of  it.  Still 
very  grave  and  pale,  she  continued  in  a  low  distinct 
voice — 

"  I  have  no  right  to  interfere,  of  course,  but  still, 
Fanny,  I  am  sure  you  will  take  what  I  say  in  good 
part.  Do  you  think  now  that  jomy  father  would 
approve  of  your  attending  Mr.  Archer's  young 
gentlemen  in  •  their  fishing  excursions  up  the 
river  ?  " 

Fanny  bowed  her  head,  and  managed  with  great 
skill  to  execute  a  blush. 

"  Indeed,  miss,"  she  faltered,  "  it  was  only  one 
young  gentleman,  and  him  the  youngest  of  them  as 
goes  to  school  with  Mr.  Archer." 

*'  I  am  quite  aware  it  was  Mr.  Ainslie,  for  I  am 
acquainted  with  him,"  pursued  Norah  bravely 
enough,  but,  do  what  she  would,  there  was  a  quiver 


A  PASSAGE  OF  ARMS.  113 

of  pain  in  Iter  voice  wlien  she  uttered  his  name,  and 
for  a  moment  Miss  Draper  felt  a  sting  of  compunc- 
tion worse  than  all  the  jealousy  she  had  experienced 
during  her  interview  with  Yandeleur  the  previous 
afternoon. 

"  I  have  no  doubt,  indeed  I  know,  he  is  a  per- 
fectly gentleman-like  person,"  continued  the  young 
lady,  as  if  she  was  repeating  a  lesson ;  *'  still, 
Fanny,  I  put  it  to  your  own  good  sense  whether 
it  would  not  have  been  wiser  to  remain  at  the  Mill 
with  your  father." 

"  Perhaps  you're  right,  miss,"  replied  the  other, 
acting  her  part  of  innocent  simplicity  with  con- 
siderable success  ;  "  and  I'm  sure  I  didn't  mean  no 
harm — nor  him  neither,  I  dare  say.  But  he's  such 
a  nice  young  gentleman.  So  quiet  and  careful-like. 
And  he  begged  and  prayed  of  me  so  hard  to  show 
him  the  way  up-stream,  that  indeed,  miss,  I  had  not 
the  heart  to  deny  him." 

"  Do  you  mean  he  asked  you  to  go  ?  "  exclaimed 
Norah,  and  the  next  moment  wished  she  had  bitten 
her  tongue  off  before  it  framed  a  question  to  which 
she  longed  yet  dreaded  so  to  hear  the  answer. 

"WeU,  miss,"  repHed  Fanny,  candidly,  "1  sup- 
pose a  young  woman  ought  not  to  believe  all  that's 

VOL.    I.  I 


114  THE  WHITE  ROSE. 

told  her  by  a  real  gentleman  like  Mr.  Ainslie; 
and  yet  lie  seems  so  good  and  kind  and  affable,  I 
can't  tbink  as  be'd  want  to  go  and  deceive  a  poor 
girl  like  me." 

Norab  felt  ber  beart  sink,  and  a  sbadow,  sucb  as 
she  tbougb':  must  be  like  tbe  sbadow  of  deatb,  passed 
over  ber  eyes ;  but  not  for  an  instant  did  ber 
courage  fail,  nor  ber  self-command  desert  ber  at 
ber  need. 

"  It  is  no  question  of  Mr.  Ainslie,"  said  sbe  with 
an  unmoved  face,  "  nor  indeed  of  anybody  in  par- 
ticulaf.  I  bave  said  my  saj^,  Fanny,  and  I  am  sure 
you  will  not  be  offended,  so  we  will  drop  tbe  subject, 
if  you  please.  And  now,  wbat  can  I  do  for  you 
about  tbe  scbool-feast  ?  " 

But  Fanny  cared  very  little  for  tbe  scbool-feast,  or 
indeed  for  anything  in  tbe  world  but  tbe  task  sbe 
bad  on  band,  and  its  probable  residts,  as  tbey 
affected  a  new  wild  fooKsb  bope  tbat  bad  lately  risen 
in  ber  beart.  Witb  a  persistence  almost  offensive, 
sbe  tried  again  and  again  to  lead  tbe  conversation 
back  to  Gerard  Ainslie,  but  again  and  again  sbe 
was  baffled  by  tbe  quiet  resolution  of  ber  companion. 
Sbe  learned  indeed  tbat  Miss  TTelby  was  somewhat 
doubtful  as  to  whether   she    should  be   present  at 


A  PASSAGE  OF  ARMS.  115 

the  tea-making  in  person,  but  beyond  tbis  gatbered 
notbing  more  definite  as  to  tbat  young  ladj^'s  feel- 
ings and  intentions  tban  tbe  usual  directions  about 
tbe  prizes,  tbe  usual  promise  of  assistance  to  tbe 
funds. 

For  a  quarter  of  an  bour  or  so,  Norab,  stretcbed 
on  tbe  rack,  bore  ber  part  in  conversation  on  indif- 
ferent subjects  in  an  indifferent  tone,  witb  a  stoicism 
essentially  feminine,  and  at  tbe  expiration  of  tbat 
period  Fanny  Draper  departed,  sufficiently  well 
pleased  witb  ber  morning's  work.  Sbe  bad  altered 
ber  opinion  now,  as  most  of  us  do  alter  our  opinions 
in  favour  of  wbat  we  wisb,  and  dismissed  all  com- 
punction from  ber  beart  in  meddling  witb  an  attacb- 
ment  tbat  on  one  side  at  least  seemed  to  bave  taken 
no  deep  root.  "  Sbe  don't  care  for  bim,  not  really," 
soliloquised  Miss  Fanny,  as  tbe  wicket-gate  of  tbe 
Parsonage  cKcked  bebind  ber,  and  sbe  turned  ber 
steps  bomeward.  *'  I  needn't  bave  gone  to  worrit 
and  fret  so  about  it  after  all.  It's  strange  too — 
sucb  a  nice  young  gentleman,  witb  tbem  eyes  and 
hair.  But  sbe  don't  care  for  bim,  nobody  needs 
to  tell  me  tbat — no  more  nor  a  stone  !  " 

How  little  sbe  knew  !  How  little  we  know  eacb 
otber  !     How  impossible  for  one  of  Fanny  Draper's 


116  THE  WHITE    ROSE. 

wilful,  impulsive  disposition  to  appreciate  the  haughty 
reticence,  the  habitual  self-restraint,  above  all,  the 
capability  for  silent  suffering  of  that  higher  nature  ! 
She  thought  Norah  "\Yelby  did  not  care  for  Gerard 
Ainslie,  and  she  judged  as  nine  out  of  ten  do  judge 
of  their  fellows,  by  an  outward  show  of  indifference, 
born  of  self- scorn,  and  by  a  specious  composure, 
partly  mere  trick  of  manner,  partly  resulting  from 
inherent  pride  of  birth. 

Norah  watched  the  departure  of  her  visitor  with- 
out mo\ang  a  muscle.  Like  one  in  a  dream,  she 
marked  the  steps  retiring  on  the  gravel,  the  click  of 
the  wicket- gate.  Like  one  in  a  dream  too,  she 
walked  twice  round  the  garden,  pale,  erect,  and  to 
all  appearance  tranquil,  save  that  now  and  then 
putting  her  hand  to  her  throat,  she  gasped  as  if  for 
breath.  Then  she  went  slowly  into  the  house,  and 
sought  her  own  room,  where  she  locked  the  door, 
and,  sure  that  none  could  overlook  her,  flung  her- 
self down  on  her  knees  by  the  bedside,  and  wept 
the  first  bitter,  scalding,  cruel  tears  of  her  j^oung 
life.  Pride,  scorn,  pique,  propriety,  maidenly  re- 
serve, these  were  for  the  outer  world,  but  here — 
she  had  lost  him  !  lost  him !  lost  him  !  and  the 
agony  was  more  than  she  could  bear. 


CHAPTER  X. 


AN    APPOINTMENT. 


The  post  arrived  at  Mr.  Archer's  in  tlie  middle 
of  breakfast,  and  formed  a  welcome  interruption  to 
tlie  stagnation  wMcli  was  apt  to  settle  on  that  repast. 
It  is  not  easy  for  a  tutor  to  make  conversation,  day 
after  day,  for  three  young  gentlemen  over  whom  he 
is  placed  in  authority,  and  who  are  therefore  little 
disposed  to  assist  him  in  his  eflPorts  to  set  them  at 
ease.  Mr.  Archer  could  not  forget  that,  under  all 
their  assumed  respect,  he  was  still  "  !Xobs  "  directly 
his  back  was  turned ;  and  a  man's  spirit  must 
indeed  be  vigorous  to  flow  unchecked  by  a  con- 
sciousness that  all  he  says  and  does  will  afford 
material  for  subsequent  ridicule  and  caricature. 
Also,  there  are  but  few  subiects  in  common  between 


118  THE  WHITE  EOSE. 

three  wild,  hopeful  boys,  not  yet  launched  in  the 
world,  and  a  grave,  disappointed,  middle-aged  man, 
who  has  borne  his  share  of  action  and  of  suffering, 
has  thought  out  half  the  illusions  of  life,  and  lived 
out  all  its  romance.  If  he  talks  gravely  he  bores, 
if  playfully  he  puzzles,  if  cynically  he  demoralises 
them.  To  sink  the  tutor  is  subversive  of  discipline  ; 
to  preserve  that  character,  ruinous  to  good-fellow- 
ship ;  so  long  and  weary  silences  were  prone  to 
settle  over  Mr.  Archer's  breakfast-table,  relieved 
only  by  crunching  of  dry  toast,  applications  for 
more  tea,  and  a  hearty  consumption  of  broiled  bacon 
and  household  bread.  Of  the  three  pupils,  Dolly 
Egremont  suffered  these  pauses  with  the  most  im- 
patience, betraying  his  feelings  by  restless  contor- 
tions on  his  chair,  hideous  grimaces  veiled  by  the 
tea-urn  from  Mr.  Archer's  eye,  and  a  continual  look- 
ing for  the  postman  (whose  arrival  could  be  seen 
from  the  dining-room  windows),  unspeakably  sug- 
gestive of  a  cheerless  frame  of  mind  described  by 
himself  as  suppressed  bore. 

Glancing  for  the  hundredth  time  down  the  laurel- 
walk  to  the  green  gate,  he  pushed  his  plate  away 
with  a  prolonged  yawn,  nudged  Gerard,  who  sat 
beside  him,  with  an  energy  that  sent  half  that  young 


AN  APPOINTMENT.  119 

gentleman's  tea  into  his  breast-pocket,  and  burst 
forth  as  usual  in  misquoted  verse — 

*'  She  said  the  day  is  dreary, 
He  Cometh  not,  she  said  ; 
None  of  us  seem  very  cheery, 
And  I  wish  I  was  in  bed  ! 

Do  you  know,  sir,  I  think  this  *weak  and  weary 
post,  bare-headed,  sweating,  knocking  at  the  taverns,' 
must  have  got  drunk  already,  and  is  not  coming 
here  at  aU." 

Mr.  Archer  could  not  help  smiling. 

"  How  you  remember  things  that  are  not  of  the 
slightest  use,  Egremont,"  he  observed.  *'  May  I  ask 
if  you  expect  any  letters  of  unusual  importance  this 
morning  ?  " 

*'It's  not  that,  sir,"  answered  Dolly.  "But  a 
Government  functionary,  particularly  a  postman,  has 
no  right  to  be  absent  from  his  post.  Mine  is  essen- 
tially a  genius  of  method.  I  cannot  bear  anything 
like  irregularity." 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  hear  it,"  replied  Mr.  Archer 
drily,     "  I  should  not  have  thought  it,  I  confess." 

"  It's  been  my  character  from  childhood,"  answered 
DoUy,  gravely ;  "  though  I  must  allow  both  Jerry 
here,  and  the  Dandy,    give  me  many   an   anxious 


120  THE  WHITE  ROSE. 

moment  on  tliat  score.      Not  to  mention  tlie  post- 
man— 

I  hold  that  man  the  worst  of  public  foes 

Who — look  out,  here  he  comes  !  yes,  there  he  goes  !  " 

Everybody  laughed,  for  Dolly  was  a  privileged 
buffoon,  and  a  servant  entering  at  the  moment 
with  the  bag,  there  was  a  general  anxiety  evinced 
while  Mr.  Archer  unlocked  it  and  distributed  the 
contents.  Three  for  himself,  none  for  Dolly,  two  for 
Burton,  and  one  for  Gerard  Ainslie. 

The  latter  started  and  blushed  up  to  his  temples 
with  surprise  and  pleasure.  It  was  the  first 
"  Official "  he  had  ever  received,  and  its  envelope, 
fresh  from  the  Horse  Guards,  was  stamped  with  the 
important  words  "  On  Her  Majcstifs  Service'' 

He  tore  it  open.  It  contained  a  sufficiently  dry 
communication,  informing  him  that  he  would  shortly 
be  gazetted  to  an  ensigncy  in  an  infantry  regiment, 
and  directing  him  to  acknowledge  its  receipt  to  an 
*'  obedient  servant"  whose  name  he  was  quite  unable 
to  decipher. 

He  pushed  the  open  letter  across  the  table  to 
Mr.  Archer,  who,  having  just  received  some  informa- 
tion of  the  same  nature,  expressed  no  surprise,  only 
observing — 


AN   APPOINTMENT.  121 

"  "We  shall  be  sorry  to  lose  you,  Ainslle ;  it  is 
sooner  tlian  I  expected.  Make  yourself  easy  about 
your  examinations.     I  think  you  are  sure  to  pass." 

He  rose  from  the  table,  and  the  others  rushed  off 
to  the  j)upil-room,  overwhelming  their  companion 
with  questions,  congratulations,  and  chaff. 

"  When  must  you  go,  Jerry?"  "  Are  you  to  join 
directly,  or  will  they  give  you  leave  ? "  "  Don't 
you  funk  being  spun  ?  "  "Is  it  a  good  regiment  ? 
How  jolly  to  dine  at  mess  every  day  !  "  "I  shouldn't 
like  to  be  a  ^  Grabby'  though  "  (this  from  the 
Dandy)  ;  "  and,  after  all,  I'd  rather  be  a  private  in 
the  cavalry  than  an  officer  in  a  regiment  oifeet  !  " 

It  was  obvious  that  Granville  Burton's  range  of 
experience  had  never  included  stable-duty,  and  that 
he  was  talking  of  what  he  knew  nothing  about. 

Gerard  Ainslie  felt  the  esjorit  de  corps  already 
rising  strong  within  him. 

"  Don't  you  jaw.  Dandy,"  he  replied  indignantly. 
"  You're  not  in  the  service  at  all  yet ;  and  I've 
always  heard  mine  is  an  excellent  regiment." 

*'  How  do  you  knoAv  ?  "  laughed  Dolly.  "  You've 
scarcely  been  in  it  a  quarter  of  an  hour.  Never 
mind,  Jerry,  we  shall  be  sorry  to  lose  you.  This  old 
pupil-room  will  be  uncommon  slow  with  nobody  but 


122  THE  WHITE  ROSE. 

me  and  Dandy  to  keep  the  game  alive.  Tlie  Dandy 
lias  not  an  idea  beyond  tobacco — 

Yet  it  shall  be — I  shall  lower  to  his  level  day  by  day, 
All  that's  fine  within  me  growing  coarse  by  smoking  pipes 
of  clay." 

"  Pipes,  indeed  !  "  exclaimed  Burton  literally. 
"  I  don't  believe  any  fellow  in  the  army  smokes 
better  weeds  than  mine.  You  told  me  yourself, 
Dolly,  yesterday,  under  the  willows,  that  you  never 
enjoyed  a  cigar  so  much  as  the  one  I  gave  you " 

' '  Oh !  it  was  sweet,  my  Granville,  to  catch  the  landward 

breeze, 
A-swing  with  good  tobacco,  by  the  mill  beneath  the  trees. 
While  I  spooned  the  miller's  daughter,  and  we  Hstened  to 

the  roar 
Of  the  wheel  that  broke  the  water — and  we  voted  you  a 

bore !  " 

replied  the  incorrigible  Dolly.  "  Yes,  you  have  a 
certain  glimmering  of  intellect  as  regards  the  Vir- 
ginian plant,  but  I  shall  miss  old  Jerry  awfully,  just 
the  same.  So  will  you,  so  will '  Nobs,'  so  will  Fanny 
Draper.  Don't  blush,  old  man.  She  looked  very 
sweet  at  you  the  day  before  yesterday  ;  and  though 
the  Dandy  here  had  thrown  his  whole  mind  into  his 
collars,  he  never  made  a  race  of  it  from  the  time  she 


AN  APPOINTMENT.  123 

caught  sight  of  you  till  tlie  finisli.  Look  here  ! 
We'll  all  go  down  together,  and  you  shall  wish  her 
good-bye,  and  I'll  have  an  improving  conversation 
and  a  drop  of  mild  ale  with  Grits — 

In  yonder  chair  I  see  him  sit, 
Three  fingers  round  tlie  old  silver  cup ; 
I  see  his  grey  eyes  twinkle  yet 
At  his  own  jest.     He  drinks  it  up. 

A  devilish  bad  jest,  too !  I  say,  can't  one  of  you 
fellows  quote  something  now?  I've  been  making 
all  the  running,  and  I'm  blown  at  last." 

"  It's  about  time  you  were  !  "  observed  Burton, 
who  had  some  difficulty  in  keeping  pace  with  his 
voluble  companion.  "  You  get  these  odds  and  ends 
of  rhyme  mixed  up  in  your  head,  and  when  you 
go  in  for  examination,  the  only  thing  you'll  pass 
for  will  be  a  lunatic  asylum  !  "     ' 

"  Not  half  a  bad  club  neither  !  "  responded  Dolly. 
**  I  saw  a  lot  of  mad  fellows  plaj^  a  cricket  match 
once — Incurable  Ward  against  Convalescents.  The 
Incurables  had  it  hollow.  Beat  'em  in  one  in- 
nings. I  never  knew  a  chap  so  pleased  as  the  mad 
doctor.  Long-stop  was  very  like  *  Nobs  ;'  and  they 
aU  behaved  better  at  luncheon  than  either  of  you 
fellows  do.     Jerry,  my  boy,  you'll  come  and  see  us 


124  THE  WHITE  ROSE. 

before   you  join.    I  say,  come  in   uniform,   if  you 
can.'' 

The  propriety  of  following  out  this  original  sug- 
gestion might  have  been  canvassed  at  great  length, 
but  for  the  apparition  of  Mr.  Archer's  head  at  the 
pupil-room  door,  summoning  Ainslie  to  a  private 
interview  in  his  sanctum. 

"  You  will  have  to  start  at  once,"  observed  the 
tutor,  looking  keenly  at  his  pupil,  and  wondering 
why  the  natural  exultation  of  a  youth  who  has  re- 
ceived his  first  commission  should  be  veiled  by  a 
shadow  of  something  like  regret.  "  I  have  a  letter 
from  your  great-uncle,  desiring  you  should  proceed 
to  London,  to-night,  if  possible.  It  is  sharp  prac- 
tice, Ainslie,  but  you  are  going  to  be  a  soldier,  and 
must  accustom  yourself  to  march  on  short  notice. 
I  recollect  in  India, — well,  that's  nothing  to  do 
with  it.  Can  you  be  ready  for  the  evening  train  ?" 
"  The  evening  train  !  "  repeated  the  lad ;  and 
again  a  pre-occupation  of  manner  struck  Mr.  Archer 
as  unusual.  "  Oh,  yes,  sir  !  "  he  said,  after  a  pause, 
and  added,  brightening  up,  "  I  should  like  to  come 
and  see  you  again,  sir,  when  I've  passed,  and  wish 
you  good-bye." 

Mr.  Archer  was  not  an  impressionable  person,  but 


AN  APPOINTMENT.  125 

he  was  touched ;  neither  was  he  demonstrative,  still 
he  grasped  his  pupil's  hand  with  unusual  cordiality. 

"  Tell  the  servants  to  pack  your  things,"  said  he, 
"  and  come  to  me  again  at  six  o'clock  for  what  money 
you  want.  In  the  meantime,  if  you  have  any  fare- 
wells to  make,  you  had  better  set  about  them.  I 
have  nothing  further  to  detain  you  on  my  own 
account." 

Any  farewells  to  make  !  Of  course  he  had.  One 
farewell  that  rather  than  forego  he  would  have  for- 
feited a  thousand  commissions  with  a  field-marshal's 
baton  attached  to  each.  He  thought  his  tutor  spoke 
meaningly,  but  this  on  reflection,  he  argued,  must 
have  been  fancy.  How  should  anybody  have  dis- 
covered his  love  for  ISTorah  Welby  ?  Had  he  not 
treasured  it  up  in  his  own  heart,  making  no  confi- 
dants, and  breathing  it  only  to  the  water-lilies  on 
the  marshes  ?  Within  ten  minutes  he  was  speed- 
ing across  those  well-known  flats  on  a  fleeter  foot 
than  usual,  now  that  he  had  news  of  such  import- 
ance to  communicate  at  Marston  Rectory.  The 
exercise,  the  sunshine,  the  balmy  summer  air  soon 
raised  his  spirits  to  their  accustomed  pitch.  Many 
a  dream  had  he  indulged  in  during  those  oft-repeated 
walks  to  and  from  the  presence  of  his  ladye-love, 


126  THE  WHITE  ROSE. 

but  the  yisions  had   never  been  so  bright,  so  life- 
like, and  so  hopeful  as  to-day  ! 

He  was  no  longer  the  mere  schoolboy  running 
over  during  play-hours  to  worship  in  hopeless  adora- 
tion at  the  feet  of  a  superior  being.  He  was  a 
soldier,  offering  a  future,  worthy  of  her  acceptance, 
to  the  woman  he  loved ;  he  was  a  knight,  ready 
to  carry  her  colours  exultingly  to  death  ;  he  was  a 
man  who  need  not  be  ashamed  of  offering  a  man's 
devotion  and  a  man's  truth  to  her  who  should  here- 
after become  his  wife.  Yes  ;  he  travelled  as  far  as 
that  before  he  had  walked  a  quarter  of  a  mile.  To 
be  sure  there  was  an  immense  deal  to  be  got  through 
in  the  way  of  heroism  and  adventure  indispensable 
to  the  working  out  of  his  plans  in  a  becoming 
manner,  worthy  of  her  and  of  him.  One  scene  on 
which  he  particularly  dwelt,  represented  a  night- 
attack  and  a  storming-party,  of  which,  of  course,  he 
was  destined  to  be  the  leader.  He  could  see  the 
rockets  shooting  up  across  the  midnight  sky ;  could 
hear  the  whispers  of  the  men,  in  their  great-coats, 
with  their  white  haversacks  slung,  mustered  ready 
and  willing,  under  cover  of  the  trenches.  He  was 
forming  them  with  many  a  good-humoured  jest  and 
rough  word  of  encouragement,  ere  he  put  himself 


AN  APPOINTMENT.  127 

at  their  head  ;  and  now,  with  the  thunder  of  field- 
pieces,  and  the  rattle  of  small- arms,  and  groans  and 
cheers,  and  shouts  and  curses  ringing  in  his  ears, 
he  was  over  the  parapet,  the  place  was  catried,  the 
enemy  retiring,  and  a  decorated  colonel,  struck  down 
by  his  own  sword,  lay  before  him,  prostrate  and 
bleeding  to  the  death  !  A  tahleau,  bright  and  vivid, 
if  not  quite  so  natural  as  realit3\  And  all  this,  in 
order  that,  contrary  to  the  usages  of  polite  warfare, 
he  might  strip  the  said  colonel  of  his  decorations, 
and  bring  them  home  to  lay  at  Miss  "Welby's  feet ! 
It  was  characteristic,  too,  that  he  never  thought  of 
the  poor  slain  officer,  nor  the  woman  that  may  have 
loved  him. 

Altogether,  by  the  time  Gerard  reached  the  wicket- 
gate  in  the  Parsonage- wall,  his  own  mind  was  made 
up,  that  ere  a  few  minutes  elapsed  he  would  be 
solemnly  affianced  to  !N'orah,  and  that  their  union 
was  a  mere  question  of  time.  Nothing  to  speak  of ! 
Say  half-a-dozen  campaigns,  perhaps,  with  general 
actions,  wounds,  Victoria  Crosses,  promotions,  and 
so  on,  to  correspond. 

Why  did  his  heart  fail  him  more  than  usual 
when  he  lifted  the  latch  ?  Why  did  it  sink  down 
to  his  very  boots  when  he  observed   no  chair,  no 


128  THE  WHITE    ROSE. 

book,  no  rickety  table,  no  work-basket,  and  no  wbite 
muslin  on  the  deserted  lawn  ? 

It  leaped  into  bis  moutb  again  tbougb,  wben  be 
saw  tbe  drawing-room  windows  sbut,  and  tbe  blinds 
down.  Even  its  outside  bas  a  wonderful  faculty 
of  expressing  tbat  a  bouse  is  untenanted.  And  long 
before  bis  feeble  summons  at  tbe  door-bell  produced 
tbe  cook,  witb  ber  gown  unbooked  and  ber  apron 
fastened  round  ber  waist,  Gerard  felt  tbat  bis  walk 
bad  been  in  vain. 

"  Is  Miss  Welby  at  bome  ?  "  asked  be,  knowing 
perfectly  well  sbe  was  not,  and  giving  bimself  up 
blindly  to  despair. 

"  Not  at  bome,  sir,"  answered  tbe  cook,  proffering 
for  tbe  expected  card  a  finger  and  tbumb  discreetly 
covered  by  tbe  corner  of  ber  apron.  Sbe  knew 
Gerard  by  sigbt,  and  was  sligbtly  interested  in  bim, 
as  "  Mr.  Arcber's  gent,  wbat  come  after  our  young 
lady."  Sbe  was  sorry  to  see  bim  look  so  wbite,  and 
tbougbt  bis  voice  strangely  busky  wben  be  de- 
manded, as  a  forlorn  bope,  if  be  could  see  Mr. 
Welby  ? 

"  Not  bare,  sir  ;  tbe  family  be  gone  to  London," 
sbe  answered,  resolutely  ;  but  added,  being  merciful 
in  ber  strengtb,  "  Tbey'U  not  be  away  for  long,  sir. 


AN  APPOINTMENT.  129 

Miss  TVelby  said  as  they  was  sure  to  be  back  in  six 
weeks." 

Six  weeks  !  He  literally  gasped  for  breath.  The 
woman  was  about  to  offer  him  a  glass  of  water,  but 
he  found  his  voice  at  last,  and  muttered,  more  to 
himself  than  the  servant,  "  Surely  she  would  write 
to  me  !     I  wonder  if  I  shall  get  a  letter  ?  " 

"  It's  jSIt.  Ainslie,  isn't  it  ?  "  said  the  cook,  who 
knew  perfectly  well  it  was.  "  1  do  think,  sir,  as 
there's  a  letter  for  1/0 k  in  the  post-bag.  I'll  step  in 
and  fetch  it." 

So  she  "  stepped  in  and  fetched  it."  She  was  a 
kind-hearted  woman.  Long  ago  she  had  lovers  of 
her  own.  Perhaps,  even  now,  she  had  not  quite 
given  up  the  idea.  She  was  not  angry,  though 
many  women  would  have  been,  that  Gerard  forgot 
to  thank  her — seizing  the  precious  despatch,  and 
carrying  it  off  to  devour  it  by  himself,  without  a 
word  :  on  the  contrary,  returning  to  her  scrubbing 
and  her  dish- scouring,  she  only  observed,  "Poor 
young  chap! "  comparing  him,  though  disparagingly, 
with  a  former  swain  of  her  own,  who  was  in  the 
pork-butchering  line,  had  a  shock  head  of  red  hair, 
and  weighed  fourteen  stone. 

Out  of  sight  and  hearing,  Gerard  opened  his  letter 

VOL.  I.  K 


130  THE  WHITE    ROSE. 

with  a  beating  heart.  Its  contents  afforded  but  cold 
comfort  to  one  who  bad  been  latelj^  indulging  in 
visions  such  as  bis.  It  was  dated  late  tbe  nigbt 
before,  and  ran  thus  : — 

*'  Dear  Mr.  Ainslie, — In  case  you  should  call 
on  us  to-morrow,  papa  desires  me  to  say  that  we 
shall  be  on  our  way  to  London.  We  are  going  to 
pay  Uncle  Edward  a  visit,  and  it  is  very  uncertain 
when  we  return. 

"  I  think  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  you  fishing  at 
Ripley  Bridge  yesterday,  and  hope  you  had  good 
sport. 

*'  Yours  sincerely, 

"  L.  Welby." 

It  was  hard  to  bear.  Though  he  had  now  a  cha- 
racter to  support  as  an  officer  and  a  gentleman,  I 
shouldn't  wonder  if  the  tears  came  thick  and  fast 
into  his  eyes  while  he  folded  it  up.  So  cold,  so  dis- 
tant, so  unfeeling  !  And  that  last  sentence  seemed 
the  cruellest  stroke  of  aU.  Poor  boy !  A  little 
more  experience  would  have  shown  him  how  that 
last  sentence  explained  the  whole — would  have 
taught  him  to  gather  from  it  the  brightest  auguries 


AN   APPOINTMENT.  131 

of  success.  Unless  offended,  she  would  never  have 
written  in  so  abrupt  a  strain ;  and  why  should  she 
be  offended,  unless  she  cared  for  him  ?  It  was  like 
a  woman,  not  to  resist  inflicting  that  last  home- 
thrust  ;  yet  to  a  practised  adversary  it  would  have 
exposed  her  weakness,  and  opened  up  her  whole 
guard.  But  Gerard  was  no  practised  adversary, 
and  he  carried  a  very  sore  heart  back  with  him 
across  the  marshes.  The  only  consolation  he  could 
gather  was  that  Miss  "Welby  had  gone  to  London, 
and  he  would  find  her  there.  In  this  also  he  be- 
trayed the  simpKcity  of  youth.  He  had  yet  to  dis- 
cover that  London  is  a  very  large  place  for  a  search 
after  the  person  you  are  most  desirous  to  see,  and 
that,  when  found,  the  person  is  likely  to  be  less 
interested  in  you  there  than  in  any  other  localitj^ 
on  the  face  of  the  earth. 


^ 

^^t\    '"l^vi  i^lfll 

fe  )i 

^M 

CHAPTER  XI. 


A     DISAPPOINTMENT. 


Neither  the  threatened  six  weeks,  nor  even  five  of 
them,  had  elapsed  before  Mr.  Welby  and  his  daughter 
returned  to  their  pretty  home.  She  had  never  felt 
so  glad  to  get  back  in  her  life.  Ainslie's  stay  in 
London  had  been  so  short  as  to  preclude  the  possi- 
bility of  his  seeking  Norah  with  any  chance  of  suc- 
cess, and  a  combination  of  feelings,  amongst  which 
predominated  no  slight  apprehension  that  her  father 
might  open  the  letter,  prevented  him  from  trusting 
one  to  be  forwarded  to  her  young  mistress  by  his 
friend  the  cook.  So  Miss  Welby  returned  to  Marston 
with  a  firm  conviction  that  Gerard  was  still  at  Mr. 
Archer's,  and  would  cross  the  marshes  to  visit  her, 
fond  and  submissive  as  usual.  She  had  forgiven 
him.  in  her  own  heart  long  ago.    It  hurt  it  too  much 


A  DISAPPOINTMENT.  133 

to  bear  ill-will  against  its  lord.  The  first  day  she 
was  in  London  she  found  a  hundred  excuses  for  his 
fancied  disloyalty ;  the  second,  shed  some  bitter 
tears  over  her  own  cold,  cruel  letter  ;  by  the  end 
of  the  week  had  persuaded  herself  she  was  quite  in 
the  wi'ong,  liked  him  better  than  ever,  and  was 
dying  to  get  home  again  and  tell  him  so.  She 
never  doubted  the  game  was  in  her  own  hands  ;  and 
although  when  the  time  for  return  drew  near — acce- 
lerated a  whole  week  at  her  request — she  anticipated 
the  pleasure  of  punishing  him  just  a  little  for  render- 
ing her  so  unhappy,  it  was  with  a  steadfast  purpose 
to  make  amends  thereafter  by  such  considerate  kind- 
ness as  should  rivet  his  fetters  faster  than  before. 

She  had  said  they  were  to  be  away  six  weeks ; 
therefore,  she  told  herself  there  could  be  no  chance 
of  his  coming  over  for  awhile,  until  he  had  learnt 
by  accident  they  had  returned.  Nevertheless,  on 
the  very  first  day,  she  established  herself,  with  chair, 
table,  and  work-basket,  on  the  lawn  under  the  lime- 
tree;  and  was  very  much  disappointed  when  tea- 
time  came,  and  he  had  not  arrived. 

Next  day  it  rained  heavily,  and  this  she  esteemed 
fortimate,  because,  as  she  argued  somewhat  incon- 
sequently,  it  would  have  prevented  his  coming  at 


134  THE  WHITE  ROSE. 

any  rate,  and  would  afford  another  twenty-four  hours 
for  the  usual  tide  of  country  gossip  to  carry  him  the 
news  of  her  return.  The  following  morning  she 
was  sui'e  of  him,  and  her  face,  when  she  came  down 
to  breakfast,  looked  as  bright  and  pure  as  the  sum- 
mer sky  itself. 

It  was  IS'orah's  custom  to  hold  a  daily  interview 
with  the  cook  at  eleven  o'clock,  avowedly  for  the 
purpose  of  ordering  dinner ;  that  is  to  say,  this  do- 
mestic wrote  down  a  certain  programme  on  a  slate, 
of  which,  if  she  wished  the  repast  to  be  well  dressed, 
it  was  good  policy  in  her  young  lady  to  approve. 
On  these  occasions  the  whole  economy  of  the  house- 
hold came  under  discussion,  and  those  arrangements 
were  made  on  which  depended  the  excellence  of  the 
provender,  the  tidiness  of  the  rooms,  the  softness  of 
the  beds,  and  the  orderly  conduct  of  the  servants. 
The  third  morning,  then,  after  her  arrival,  the  cook, 
an  inveterate  gossip,  having  exhausted  such  con- 
genial subjects  as  soap,  candles,  stock,  dripping,  and 
table-linen,  bethought  herself  of  yet  one  more  chance 
to  prolong  their  interview. 

*'  The  letters  had  all  come  to  hand  safe,"  she  hoped, 
"  according  to  the  dii-ections  Miss  Welby  left  for 
forwarding  of  them  correct." 


A  DISAPPOINTMENT.  135 

Miss  AVelby  frankly  admitted  they  arrived  in  due 
course. 

The  cook  had  been  ^'  careful  to  post  them  herself 
regular,  so  as  there  could  be  no  mistake.  All  but 
one.  She'd  forgotten  to  mention  it,  and  that  was 
the  very  day  as  Miss  Welby  left." 

JN^orah's  heart  leaped  with  a  wild  hope.  Could  it 
be  possible  that  cruel,  odious,  vile  production  had 
never  reached  him  after  all  ? 

The  cook  proceeded  gravely  to  excuse  herself. 

"  She  had  seen  the  address — it  was  the  only  letter 
in  the  box  ;  the  young  gentleman  come  over  himself 
that  very  morning,  while  she  (the  cook)  was  clean- 
ing up.  He  seemed  anxious,  poor  young  gentleman  I 
and  looked  dreadful  ill,  so  she  made  bold  to  give  it 
him  then  and  there.     She  hoped  as  she  done  right." 

IsTorah's  cheek  turned  pale.  He  looked  ill — poor, 
poor  fellow !  And  he  was  anxious.  Of  course  he 
was.  No  doubt  he  had  hurried  over  to  explain  all, 
and  had  found  her  gone,  leaving  that  cruel  letter 
(how  she  hated  it  now !)  to  cut  him  to  the  heart. 
She  had  been  rash,  passionate,  unkind,  unjust !  She 
had  lowered  both  herself  and  him.  JN^ever  mind. 
He  would  be  here  to-day,  in  an  hour  at  the  latest ; 
and  she   would  beg  pardon,  humbly,    fondly,  pro- 


136  THE  WHITE   ROSE. 

mising  never  to  mistrust  nor  to  yex  him  again. 
Xo  ;  there  were  no  more  orders.  The  cook  had  done 
quite  right  about  the  letters,  and  they  would  dine 
at  half-past  seven  as  usual. 

It  was  a  relief  to  be  left  alone  again  with  her 
own  thoughts.  It  was  a  happiness  to  look  at  the 
lengthening  shadows  creeping  inch  by  inch  across 
the  lawn,  and  exjDect  him  every  moment  now,  as 
luncheon  came  and  went,  and  the  afternoon  passed 
away.  But  the  shadows  overspread  the  whole  lawn, 
the  dew  began  to  fall,  the  dressing-beU  rang,  and 
still  no  Gerard  Ainslie. 

Mr.  Welby  attributed  his  daughter's  low  spirits 
during  dinner  to  reaction  after  the  excitement  of  a 
London  life.  He  had  felt  it  himself  many  years 
ago,  and  shuddered  with  the  remembrance  even 
now.  At  dessert  a  bright  thought  struck  him,  and 
he  looked  up. 

"  It's  the  archery  meeting  to-morrow  at  Oakover. 
Isn't  it,  Norah  ?     My  dear,  hadn't  you  better  go  ?  " 

^*I  think  I  shall,"  answered  Miss  Welby,  who 
fully  intended  it.  "  Perhaps  Lady  Baker  will  take 
me.     If  she  can't,  I  must  fall  back  on  the  Browns." 

"My  dear,  I  will  take  you  myself,"  replied  her 
father  stoutly,  while  he  filled  his  glass. 


A  DISAPPOINTMENT.  137 

She  looked  pleased. 

"  Oh,  papa,  how  nice  I  But,  dear,  you'll  be  so 
dreadfully  bored.  There's  a  cold  dinner,  you  know. 
And  the  thing  lasts  all  day,  and  dancing  very  likely 
at  night.     However,  we  can  come  away  before  that." 

"You're  an  unselfish  girl,  Xorah,"  said  her  father, 
"  as  you  always  were.  I  tell  you  I'll  go,  and  I'll  stay 
and  see  it  out  if  they  dance  till  dawn.  You  shall 
drive  me  there  with  the  ponies,  and  they  can  come 
back  and  bring  the  brougham  for  us  at  night.  Xo, 
you  needn't  thank  me,  my  dear.  I'm  not  so  good 
as  you  think.  I  want  to  have  a  few  hours  in  Yan- 
deleur's  library,  for  I'm  by  no  means  satisfied  with 
the  '  Sea-breeze  Chorus '  in  any  of  my  editions  here. 
It  seems  clear  one  word  at  least  must  be  wrong. 
The  whole  spirit  of  the  '  Medea,'  the  '  Hecuba,'  and, 
indeed,  every  play  of  Euripides — But  I  won't  inflict 
a  Greek  particle — no,  nor  a  particle  of  Greek — on 
you,  my  dear.  Eing  the  bell,  and  let's  have  some 
tea." 

So  Norah  went  to  bed,  after  another  day  of  disap- 
pointment, buoyed  up  once  more  by  hope, — Gerard 
was  sure  to  be  at  the  archery  meeting.  Mr.  Archer's 
young  gentlemen  always  made  a  point  of  attending 
these  gatherings  ;  and  Dolly  Egremont  had,  on  one 


138  THE  WHITE  ROSE- 

occasion,  even  taken  a  prize.  "  Yes,"  thought  Miss 
'VYelb}^  ''  to-morrow,  at  last,  I  am  sure  to  meet  him. 
Perhaps  he  is  offended.  Perhaps  he  won't  speak  to 
me.  JN'ever  mind  !  He'll  see  I'm  sorry  at  any  rate, 
and  he'll  know  that  I  haven't  left  off  caring  for  him. 
Yes,  I'll  put  on  that  lilac  he  thought  so  pretty. 
It's  a  little  worn,  but  I  don't  mind.  I  hope  it  won't 
rain  !     I  wish  to-morrow  was  come  ! " 

To-morrow  came,  and  it  didn't  rain.  Starting 
after  luncheon  in  the  pony-carriage,  Norah  and  her 
father  agreed  that  this  was  one  of  the  days  sent 
expressly  from  Paradise  for  breakfasts,  fetes,  pic-nics,. 
&c.,  but  which  so  rarely  reach  their  destination. 

At  Oakover  everything  seemed  in  holiday  dress 
for  the  occasion.  The  old  trees  towered  in  the  full 
luxuriance  of  summer  foliage.  The  lawn,  fresh 
mown,  smiled  smooth  and  comely,  like  a  clean- 
shaved  face.  The  stone  balustrades  and  gravel 
walks  glared  and  glittered  in  the  sun.  The  garden 
was  one  blaze  of  flowers.  Already  a  flapping 
marquee  was  being  pitched  for  refreshments,  and 
snowy  bell-tents  dotted  the  sward,  for  the  different 
purposes  of  marking  scores,  assorting  prizes,  and 
carrying  on  flirtations.  The  targets,  leaning  back- 
ward  in  jovial   defiance,    offered  their  round  bluff 


A  DISAPPOINTMENT.  139 

faces  with  an  air  that  seemed  to  say  ''  Hit  me,  if  you 
can  /"  and  it  is  but  justice  to  admit  that,  in  one  or 
two  instances,  they  had  paid  the  penalty  of  their 
daring  with  a  flesh  wound  or  so  about  the  rims. 

"Wlien  Mr.  "Welby  and  his  daughter  arrived  on 
the  ground,  a  few  flights  of  arrows  had  already  been 
shot,  and  the  archers  were  walking  in  bands  to  and 
fro  between  the  butts,  with  a  solemnity  that  denoted 
the  grave  nature  of  their  pastime.  Well  might  old 
Froissart,  on  whose  country-men,  indeed,  a  flight  of 
English  arrows  made  no  slight  impression,  describe 
our  people  as  "  taking  their  pleasure  sadly,  after  the 
manner  of  their  nation." 

If  there  was  one  social  duty  which  Mr.  Yandeleur 
fulfilled  better  than  another,  it  was  that  of  receiving 
his  guests.  He  had  the  knack  of  putting  people  at 
ease  from  the  outset.  He  made  them  feel  they  were 
conferring  a  favour  on  himself  by  visiting  his  home, 
while  at  the  same  time  he  preserved  so  much  of 
dignity  and  self-respect  as  conveyed  the  idea  that 
to  confer  favours  on  such  a  man  was  by  no  means 
waste  of  courtesy.  For  Mr.  AYelby  he  had  a  cordial 
greeting  and  a  jest,  for  Xorah  a  graceful  comi:)li- 
ment  and  a  smile. 

''  The  shooters  have  already  begun.  Miss  AVelby," 


140  THE  WHITE  ROSE. 

said  he,  turning  to  welcome  a  fresh,  batch  of  guests ; 
"  and  there's  tea  in  the  large  tent.  If  you  miss  your 
chaperone  at  any  time,  you  will  be  sure  to  find  him 
in  the  library." 

So  Norah  walked  daintily  on  towards  the  targets, 
and  many  an  eye  followed  her  with  approving  glances 
as  she  passed.  It  is  not  every  woman  who  can  walk 
across  a  ball-room,  a  lawn,  or  such  open  space, 
unsupported,  with  dignity  and  ease.  Miss  Welby's 
undulating  figure  never  looked  so  weU  as  when  thus 
seen  aloof  from  others,  moving  smooth  and  stately, 
with  a  measured  step  and  graceful  bearing  pecu- 
liarly her  own.  The  smooth,  elastic  gait  was  doubt- 
less the  result  of  physical  symmetry,  but  the  inimit- 
able charm  of  manner  sprang  from  combined  modesty 
-and  self-respect  within. 

"Welby,  a  few  paces  behind,  felt  proud  of  his  hand- 
some daughter,  looked  it,  and  was  not  ashamed  even 
to  profess  his  admiration.  There  was  a  quaking 
heart  all  the  time  though  under  this  attractive  ex- 
terior. With  one  eager,  restless  glance  ^N^orah  took 
in  the  whole  company,  and  Gerard  was  not  there. 
AYorse  still,  Dolly  Egremont  had  just  made  a  "gold," 
and  Dandy  Burton  was  shooting  aimlessly  over  the 
target. 


A  DISAPPOINTMENT.  141 

Poor  Xorah.  began  to  be  very  unliappy.  Luckily, 
however,  she  got  bold  of  Lady  Baker,  and  tbat  wel- 
come dowager,  who  was  ratber  deaf,  ratber  blind, 
and  ratber  stupid,  offered  tbe  best  possible  refuge 
till  a  fellow-pupil  sbould  come  up  to  make  bis  bow, 
and  sbe  migbt  ask — in  a  roundabout  way,  be  sure — 
wbat  bad  become  of  Gerard  AinsKe. 

Mr.  Arcber's  young  gentlemen  bad  bitberto  taken 
advantage  witb  considerable  readiness  of  tbe  very 
few  opportunities  tbat  offered  tbemselves  to  pay 
attention  to  Miss  ^elby.  To-day,  nevertheless, 
perverse  fate  decreed  tbat  botb  Egremont  and 
Burton  sbould  be  so  interested  in  tbeir  shooting  as 
to  remain  out  of  speaking  distance.  Tbe  Dandy, 
indeed,  took  his  hat  off  ^dth  an  elaborate  flourish, 
but  having  been  captured,  in  the  body  at  least,  by 
a  young  lady  in  pink,  was  unable,  for  the  present, 
to  do*inore  than  express  with  such  mute  homage  his 
desire  to  lay  himself  at  Miss  TTelby's  feet. 

It  was  weary  work  that  waiting,  waiting  for  the 
one  dear  face.  Weary  work  to  see  everybody  round 
her  merry-making,  and  to  be  hungering  still  for  the 
presence  that  would  turn  this  penance  into  a  holiday 
for  herself  as  it  was  for  the  rest.  There  was  always 
the  hope  that  he  might  come  late  with  Mr.  Archer, 


142  THE  WHITE  ROSE. 

who  had  not  appeared.  And  to  so  frail  a  stranc" 
Norah  clung  more  and  more  tenaciously  as  the  day 
went  down,  and  this  her  last  chance  died  out  too. 
Even  Lady  Baker  remarked  the  worn,  weary  look 
on  that  pale  face,  and  proposed  the  usual  remedy 
for  a  heart-ache  in  polite  circles,  to  go  and  have 
some  tea. 

"  This  standing  so  long  would  founder  a  troop- 
horse,  my  dear,"  said  her  ladyship.  "  Let's  try  for 
a  cup  of  tea.  Mr.  Yandeleur  told  me  it  was  ready 
two  hours  ago." 

Norah  assented  willingly  enough.  He  might  be 
in  the  tent  after  all,  and  for  a  while  this  spark  of 
hope  kindled  into  flame,  and  then  went  out  like 
the  rest. 

In  the  tent,  however,  were  collected  the  smartest 
of  the  county  people,  including  several  young  gentle- 
men professed  admirers  of  Miss  Welby.  They 
gathered  roimd  her  the  instant  she  appeared.  Partly 
jdelding  to  the  exigencies  of  society,  partly  to  the 
force  of  habit,  partly  to  intense  weariness  and  vexa- 
tion, she  joined  in  their  talk,  accepting  the  incense 
offered  her  with  a  liveliness  of  tone  and  manner 
betrayed  for  the  first  time  to-day.  Lady  Baker 
began  to  think  her  young  friend  was  "  rather  giddy 


A  DISAPPOINTMENT.  143 

for  a  clergjTnaii's  daughter,  and  a  confirmed  flirt, 
like  tlie  rest  of  them/' 

And  so  the  day  wore  on,  and  the  shooters  un- 
strung their  bows,  making  excuses  for  their  ineffi- 
ciency. Presently,  the  prizes  were  distributed,  the 
company  adjourned  into  the  house,  rumours  went 
about  of  an  impromptu  dance,  and  people  gathered  in 
knots,  as  if  somewhat  at  a  loss  till  it  should  begin. 
Mr.  Yandeleur  moving  from  group  to  group,  with 
pleasant  words  and  smiles,  at  last  stopped  by  Xorah, 
and  keeping  on  the  deafest  side  of  Lady  Baker, 
observed  in  a  low  tone — 

"  Your  father  is  still  wrestling  hard  with  a  Greek 
misprint  in  the  library.  He  won't  want  you  to  go 
away  for  hours  yet.  We  think  of  a  little  dancing, 
Miss  "Welby  ;  when  would  you  like  to  begin  ?  " 

It  was  flattering  to  be  thus  made  queen  of  the 
revels  ;  he  meant  it  should  be,  and  she  felt  it  so. 
Still  she  was  rather  glad  that  Lady  Baker  did  not 
hear.  She  was  glad,  too,  that  her  host  did  not 
secure  her  for  the  first  quadrille,  when  she  saw 
Dandy  Burton  advancing  with  intention  in  his  eye, 
and  she  resolved  to  extract  from  that  self  satisfied 
young  gentleman  all  the  information  for  which  she 
pined. 


144  THE  WHITE  ROSE. 

Yandeleur  had  debated  in  his  own  mind  whether 
he  should  dance  with  her  or  not,  but,  haviiig  a 
certain  sense  of  the  fitness  of  things,  decided  to 
abstain. 

"  'No  !  hang  it !  "  he  said  to  himself  that  morning 
while  shaving ;  "  after  a  fellow  's  forty  it 's  time 
to  shut  up.  I've  had  a  queerish  dance  or  two  in 
my  day,  and  I  can't  complain.  How  I  could  open 
their  eyes  here  if  I  chose  !  "  and  he  chuckled,  that 
unrepentant  sinner,  over  sundry  well-remembered* 
scenes  of  revelry  and  devihy  in  the  wild  wicked 
times  long  ago. 

The  band  struck  up,  the  dancers  paired,  the  set 
was  forming,  and  Burton,  closely  pursued  by  Dolly 
Egremont,  secured  his  partner. 

"  Too  late !  "  exclaimed  the  triumphant  cavalier 
to  his  fellow-pupil.  "  Miss  "Welby's  engaged. 
Besides,  Dolly,  she  considers  you  too  fat  to  dance." 

An  indignant  disclaimer  from  Miss  Welby  was  lost 
in  Dolly's  good-humoured  rejoinder. 

"  You  go  for  a  waist.  Dandy,"  said  he,  "  and  I 
for  a  chest — that's  all  the  difference.  Besides,  it's  a 
well-known  fact  that  the  stoutest  men  always  dance 
the  lightest.  You've  got  a  square — Miss  Welby 
will,  perhaps,  give  me  the  next  round — 


A  disappoixt:mext.  145" 

Turn,  Fortune,  turn  thy  wheel  and  lower  the  proud 
Dandy  !  you  di-ess  too  low,  you  dance  too  loud." 

But  Miss  Welby  was  afraid  slie  couldn't — didn't 
think  she  should  waltz  at  all — felt  a  little  headache, 
and  wondered  how  Mr.  Egremont  could  talk  such 
nonsense  !  Then  she  took  her  station  by  her  partner, 
and  began.  It  was  more  difficult  to  pump  the 
Dandy  than  she  expected.  In  the  first  place  he 
had  thrown  his  whole  mind  into  his  costume,  which, 
indeed,  it  is  but  justice  to  admit,  left  nothing  to  be 
desired ;  secondly,  what  little  attention  he  might 
otherwise  have  spared,  was  distracted  by  the  uncon- 
cealed admiration  lavished  on  him  by  his  vis-d-vis, 
the  young  lady  in  pink ;  and,  thirdly,  his  own  idea 
of  conversation  was  a  running  fire  of  questions, 
without  waiting  for  answers,  alternated  by  profuse 
compliments,  too  j)ersonal  to  be  quite  agreeable, 

"  Don't  you  waltz.  Miss  AYelby  ?  "  said  he,  the 
instant  they  paused  to  allow  of  the  side  couples  per- 
forming the  dignified  motions  they  had  themselves 
executed.  "  You've  got  just  the  figure  for  waltz- 
ing ;  I'm  sure  you  must  waltz  well.  I^ow  I  think 
of  it,  I  fancy  I've  seen  you  waltz  with  Gerard 
Ainslie." 

Perhaps  he   had.     Perhaps  that  was  the  reason 

VOL.  I.  L 


146  THE  WHITE   ROSE. 

she  didn't  waltz  now.  Perhaps  she  had  made 
this  absentee  a  promise  that  men  selfishlj^  exact, 
and  even  loving  women  accord  rather  -unwillingly, 
never  to  waltz  with  anybody  else.  Perhaps  a  differ- 
ence of  opinion  at  a  previous  archery  meeting  of 
which  we  have  heard  may  have  arisen  from  a  dis- 
cussion on  this  very  subject.  I  know  not.  At  any 
rate,  here  was  an  opening,  and  Norah  took  advan- 
tage of  it. 

"He's  a  good  waltzer — Mr.  Ainslie,"  said  she, 
drearily.     "  ^Tiy  is  he  not  here  to-night  ?  " 

"  Do  you  thinli  he  is  quite  a  good  waltzer  ? " 
asked  her  partner.  "  He  dances  smoothly  enough, 
but   don't   you   think    he  holds  himself  too   stiff? 

And  then,  a  fellow  can't  dance,  you   know,  if 

It's  your  turn  to  go  on !  " 

An  untimely  interruption,  while  she  carried  out  a 
ridiculous  pantomime  with  the  gentleman  opposite 
— a  swing  with  both  hands  in  the  Dandy's — and  a 
return  to  the  previous  question. 

"You  were  going  to  tell  me  why  Mr.  Ainslie 
didn't  come  with  you." 

"I  don't  want  to  talk  about  Ainslie,"  answered 
the  Dandy,  with  a  killing  smile.  "  I  want  to  talk 
about  yourself,   Miss  Welby.      That's   a   charming 


A  DISAPPOINTMENT.  147 

dress  you've  got  on.     I  iiad  no  idea  lilac  could 

The  others  are  waiting  for  us  to  begin." 

And  so  the  grand  round  came,  and  still  IN^orah 
had  not  extorted  an  answer  to  the  question  next  her 
heart.  She  looked  paler  and  more  dejected  than 
ever  when  her  partner  led  her  through  the  dancing- 
room,  proposing  wine- and- water,  ices,  and  such  re- 
storatives. She  was  very  heart- sick  and  tired — tired 
of  the  dancing,  the  music,  the  whole  thing — not  a 
little  tired  of  Dandy  Burton  himself  and  his  plati- 
tudes. Succour,  however,  was  at  hand.  Yandeleur  had 
been  watching  her  through  the  whole  quadrille,  only 
waiting  his  opportunity.  He  pounced  on  it  at  once. 
"  You  find  the  heat  oppressive.  Miss  Welby,"  said 
he,  extricating  her  from  Burton's  arm,  and  ofiering 
his  own.  "  I  never  can  keep  this  room  cool  enough. 
Let  me  take  you  to  the  conservatory,  where  there  is 
plenty  of  air,  and  a  fountain  of  water  besides  to 
souse  you  if  you  turn  faint." 

It  was  a  relief  to  hear  his  cheerful,  manly  tones 
after  the  Dandy's  vapid  sentences.  She  took  his 
arm  gratefully,  and  accompanied  him,  followed  by 
meaning  glances  from  two  or  three  observant  ladies, 
who  would  not  have  minded  seeing  their  own 
daughters  in  the  same  situation. 


CHAPTEE  XII. 


REACTION. 


*'  Tms  is  deHglitful ! "  exclaimed  Norah,  drawing 
a  full  breath  of  the  pure,  cool  night  air,  that  played 
through  the  roomy  conservatory,  and  looking  round 
in  admiration  on  the  quaintlj-twisted  pillars,  the 
inlaid  pavement,  the  glittering  fountain,  and  the 
painted  lanterns  hanging  amongst  broad-leafed 
tropical  plants  and  gorgeous  flowers.     It  seemed  a 

different  world  from  the  ball-room,  and  would  have 

been  Paradise,  if  only  Gerard  had  been  there  ! 

*'  I  am  glad  yoii  like  it.  Miss  Welby,"  said  Yan- 

deleur,  wdth  a  flattering  emphasis  on  the  pronoun. 

*'!N^ow  sit  down,  while  I  get    jou   some   tea,   and. 

I'll  give  you  leave  to  go  and  dance  again  directly 

I  see  more  colour  in  your  face.     I  take  good  care  of 

you,  donH  I  ? '' 


liE  ACTION.  149 

*'  You  do,  indeed  I  "  she  answered  gratefully,  for 
to  the  wounded,  anxious  heart  there  was  something 
both  soothing  and  reassuring  in  the  kindly  manner 
and  franlv,  manly  voice. 

A  certain  latent  energy-,  a  suppressed  power, 
lurked  about  Yandeleur,  essentially  pleasing  to 
women,  and  ^orah  felt  the  influence  of  these  male 
qualities  to  theii'  full  extent  while  he  brought  her 
the  promised  tea,  disposed  her  chair  out  of  the 
draught,  and  seated  himself  by  her  side. 

Then  he  led  the  conversation  gradually  to  the 
news  she  most  desired  to  hear.  It  was  Yandeleur's 
habit  to  affect  a  good-humoured  superiority  in  hi/ 
intercourse  with  young  ladies,  as  of  a  man  who  was 
so  much  their  senior,  that  he  might  profess  interest 
without  consequence  and  admiration  without  imper- 
tinence. Perhaps  he  foimd  it  answer.  Perhaps, 
after  all,  it  was  but  the  result  of  an  inherent  hon- 
hommie,  and  a  frankness  bordering  on  eccentricity. 
At  any  rate,  he  began  in  his  usual  strain — 

''  How  kind  of  you,  Miss  Welby,  to  come  and  sit 
quietly  with  an  old  gentleman  in  an  ice-house 
when  you  might  be  dancing  forty  miles  an  hour 
with  a  young  one  in  an  oven.  Dandy  Burton, 
or  whatever  his  name  is — the  man  with  the  shirt- 


150  THE  WHITE  ROSE. 

front — must  hate  me  pretty  cordially.  That's 
another  conquest,  Miss  Welby  ;  and  so  is  his  friend, 
the  fat  one.  You  spare  none  of  us.  Old  and  young  ! 
^o  quarter.  !N"o  forgiveness.  Let  me  put  your  cup 
down  !  " 

*^  I  like  the  fat  one  best,"  she  answered,  smiling, 
while  she  gave  him  her  cup. 

He  moved  away  to  place  it  in  safety,  and  she  did 
not  fail  to  notice  with  gratitude  that  he  kept  his  back 
turned  while  he  j)roceeded  : — 

"  The  other's  the  flower  of  them  all.  Miss  Welby, 
to  my  fancy,  and  I  am  very  glad  I  was  able  to  do 
him  a  turn.  He  got  his  commission,  you  know,  the 
very  day  you  left  Marston.  I  should  think  he  must 
have  joined  by  now.  I  dare  say  he  is  hard  at  work 
at  the  goose-step  already." 

When  he  looked  at  her  again,  he  could  see  hj 
the  way  her  whole  face  had  brightened  that  she 
heard  this  intelligence  for  the  first  time.  He 
observed,  with  inward  satisfaction,  that  there  could 
have  been  no  interchange  of  correspondence ;  and 
reflecting  that  young  ladies  seldom  read  the  papers 
very  3.iligently,  or  interest  themselves  in  gazettes, 
was  able  to  appreciate  the  value  of  the  news  he 
had  just  communicated. 


REACTION.  151 

Korah  preserved  h.er  self- cohitti and  as,  whatever 
may  be  their  weakness  under  physical  pressure,  the 
youngest  and  simplest  woman  can  in  a  moral  emer- 
gency. It  was  unspeakable  relief  to  learn  there 
was  a  reason  for  his  past  neglect  and  present  non- 
appearance; but  she  felt  on  thorns  of  anxiety  to 
hear  where  he  had  gone,  what  he  was  doing,  when 
there  would  be  a  chance  of  seeing  him  again  ;  and 
therefore  she  answered  in  a  calm,  cold  voice  that 
by  no  means  deceived  her  companion — 

"  I  never  heard  a  word  of  it  I  I  am  very  glad 
for  ^Ir.  Ainslie's  sake.  I  believe  he  was  exceed- 
ingly anxious  to  get  his  commission.  Oh !  Mr.  Yan- 
deleur,  hovf  kind  of  you  to  interest  yourself  about 
him  I" 

"  We  are  all  interested  in  him,  I  think,  Jliss 
Welby,"  he  answered  vv'ith  a  meaning  smile.  "  I 
told  you  long  ago  I  thought  he  had  the  makings  of 
a  man  about  him.  Well,  he  has  got  a  fair  start. 
We  Avon't  lose  sight  of  him,  any  of  us ;  but  you 
know  he  must  follow  up  his  profession.'' 

She  knew  it  too  well,  and  would  not  have  stood 
in  the  way  of  his  success ;  no,  not  to  have  seen  him 
every  day,  and  all  day  long.  And  now,  while  she 
felt  it  might  be  years  before  they  would  meet  again, 


152  THE  WHITE    ROSE. 

there  was  yet  a  pleasure  in  talking  of  him,  after  the 
suspense  and  uncertainty  of  the  last  three  days,  that 
threw  a  reflected  glow  of  interest  even  on  the  per- 
son to  whom  she  could  unbosom  herself.  Next  to 
Gerard,  though  a  long  way  off,  and  papa,  of  course, 
she  felt  she  liked  Mr.  Yandeleur  better  than  any- 
body. 

He  read  her  like  a  book,  and  continued  to  play  the 
same  game. 

"  I  thought  you  would  be  pleased  to  know  about 
him,"  said  he,  keeping  his  eyes,  according  to  cus- 
tom, averted  from  her  face.  "  The  others  are  all 
very  well,  but  Ainslie  is  realty  a  promising  lad, 
and  some  day.  Miss  "Welby,  you  and  I  will  be  proud 
of  him.  But  he's  only  reached  the  foot  of  the 
ladder  yet,  and  it  takes  a  long  time  to  get  to  the 
top.  Come,  Miss  Welby,  your  tea  has  done  you 
good.  You're  more  like  yourself  again ;  and  do 
you  knoY*^  that  is  a  very  becoming  dress  you  have 
got  on?  I  wish  I  was  yomig  enough  to  dance 
with  you,  but  I'm  not,  so  I'll  watch  you  instead. 
It's  no  compliment  to  you  to  say  you're  very  good 
to  look  at  indeed." 

"I  am  glad  you  think  so,"  she  answered,  quit- 
ting his  arm  at  the  door  of  the  dancing-room ;  and 


REACTION.  153 

he  fancied,  though  it  was  probably  only  fancy,  that 
she  had  leaned  heavier  on  it  while  they  returned. 
At  any  rate,  Yandeleur  betook  himself  to  the  society 
of  his  other  guests,  by  no  means  dissatisfied  with 
the  progress  he  had  made. 

And  Xorah  embarked  on  the  intricacies  of  the 
"Lancers,"  under  the  pilotage  of  Dolly  Egremont, 
who  contrived  to  make  her  laugh  heartily  more 
than  once  before  the  set  was  finished.  She  re- 
covered her  spirits  raj^idly.  After  all,  was  she  not 
young,  handsome,  well-dressed,  admired,  and  fond 
of  dancing  ?  She  put  off  reflection,  misgivings, 
sorrow,  memories,  and  regrets,  till  the  ball  was  over 
at  least.  Lady  Baker,  dull  as  she  might  be,  was 
yet  sufficiently  a  woman  to  notice  the  change  in  her 
young  friend's  demeanom%  and  having  seen  her  come 
from  the  conservatory  on  their  host's  arm,  not  only 
drew  her  own  conclusions,  but  confided  them  to 
her  neighbour,  Mrs.  Brown. 

"  My  dear,"  said  her  ladyship,  ''  I've  found  out 
something.  Mr.  Yandeleur  will  marry  again  ; — you 
mark  my  words.  And  he's  made  his  choice  in  this 
very  room  to-night." 

Mrs.  Brown,  a  lady  of  mature  years,  with  rather 
a  false  smile,  and  very  false  teeth,  showed  the  whole 


154  THE  WHITE  KOSE. 

of  them,  well  pleased,  for  she  owned  a  marriageable 
daughter,  at  that  m.omeiit  flirting  egregionsly  with 
Vandeleur,  in  the  same  room ;  but  her  face  fell 
when  Lady  Baker,  whose  impartial  obtuseness  spared 

neither  friend  nor  foe,  continued  in  the  same  monoto- 

» 

nous  voice — 

"He  might  do  worse,  and  he  might  do  better. 
He's  done  some  foolish  things  in  his  life,  and  perhaps 
he  thinks  it's  time  to  reform.  I  hope  he  will,  I'm 
sure.  She's  giddy  and  flight}',  no  doubt ;  but  I 
dare  say  it's  the  best  thing  for  him,  after  all !  " 

Mrs.  Brown  assenting,  began  to  have  doubts  about 
her  daughter's  chance. 

"  ^Yho  is  it  ?  and  how  d'ye  laiow  ?  "  she  demanded 
rather  austerely,  though  in  a  guarded  whisper. 

"  It's  J^orah  Welby,  and  I  heard  him  ask  her," 
replied  Lady  Baker  recklessly,  and  in  an  audible 
voice. 

"  Poor  girl !  I  pity  her  !  "  said  the  other,  touch- 
ing her  forehead,  as  she  passed  into  the  supper-room 
and  commenced  on  cold  chicken  and  tongue. 

She  pitied  herself,  poor  ^N^orah,  an  hour  afterwards, 
looking  blankly  out  from  the  brougham  window  on 
the  dismal  grey  of  the  summer's  morning.  Papa 
was  ftist   asleep    in   his   corner,    satisfied   with   his 


REACTION.  155 

Yictory  over  tlie  Greek  particle,  and  thorouglily 
persuaded  that  his  darling  had  enjoyed  her  dance. 
The  pleasure,  the  excitement  was  over,  and  now  the 
reaction  had  begun.  It  seemed  so  strange,  so  blank, 
so  sad,  to  leave  one  of  these  festive  gatherings,  and 
not  to  have  danced  with  Grerard,  not  even  to  have 
seen  him  ;  worse  than  all,  to  have  no  meeting  in 
anticipation  at  which  she  could  tell  him  how  she  had 
missed  him,  for  which  she  could  long  and  count  the 
hours  as  she  used  to  do  when  every  minute  brought 
it  nearer  yet.  What  was  the  use  of  counting  hours 
now,  when  years  would  intervene  before  she  should 
look  on  his  frank  young  face,  hear  his  kind,  melo- 
dious voice  ?  Her  eyes  filled  and  ran  over,  but  papa 
was  fast  asleep,  so  what  did  it  signify  ?  She  was  so 
lonely,  so  miserable  !  In  all  the  darkness  there  was 
but  one  spark  of  light,  in  all  the  sorrow  but  one  grain 
of  consolation.  Strangely  enough,  or  rather,  perhaps, 
according  to  the  laws  of  sympathy  and  the  force  of 
association,  that  light,  that  solace  seemed  to  identify 
themselves  with  the  presence  and  companionship 
of  Mr.  Yandeleur. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 


GOOSE-STEP. 


Few  places  could  perliaps  be  less  adapted  for  a  pri- 
vate rehearsal  than  the  staircase  of  a  lodging-house 
in  a  provincial  town  ; — a  provincial  town  enlivened 
only  by  a  theatre  open  for  six  weeks  of  the  year,  and 
rejoicing  in  the  occasional  presence  of  the  depot  from 
which  a  marching  regiment  on  foreign  service  drew 
its  supplies  of  men  and  ofhcers.  Nevertheless,  this 
unpromising  locaKty  had  been  selected  for  the  pur- 
pose of  studying  his  part  by  an  individual  whose 
exterior  denoted  he  could  belong  to  no  other  pro- 
fession than  that  of  an  actor.  As  the  man  stood 
gesticulating  on  the  landing,  he  appeared  uncon- 
scious of  everything  in  the  world  but  the  character 
it  was  his  purpose  to  assume.  Fanny  Draper, 
dodging  out  of  a  small,  humbly- furnished  bed-room, 


GOOSE-STEP.  157 

was  somewhat  startled  by  tire  energy  with  which 
this  enthusiast  threw  himself  at  her  feet,  and  seizing 
her  hand  in  both  his  own,  exclaimed  with  alarming 
yehemence — 

"  Adorable  being,  has  not  yonr  heart  long  since 
apprised  ye  that  Rinaldo  is  your  deyoted  slaye  ? 
He  loyes  ye ;  he  vrorships  ye ;  he  liyes  but  in  your 

glances  ;  he  dies  beneath  your " 

"  Lor,  Mr.  Bruff,"  exclaimed  Fanny,  ^'  why,  how 
you  go  on  !  I  declare  loye-making  seems  neyer  to 
be  out  of  your  head." 

Mr.  Bruff,  thus  adjured,  rose,  not  yery  nimbly,  to 
his  feet,  and  assuming,  with  admirable  yersatility, 
what  he  belieyed  to  be  the  air  of  a  man  of  con- 
summate fashion,  apologised  for  the  eccentricity  of 
his  demeanour. 

"Madam,"  said  he,  "I  feel  that  on  this,  as  on 
former  occasions,  your  penetration  T^-ill  distinguish 
between  the  man  and  his  professional  ayocations. 
I  am  now  engrossed  with  the  part  of  a  loyer  in 
genteel  comedy.  My  exterior  will  doubtless  suggest 
to  you  that  I  am — eh  ?  what  shall  I  say  ? — not 
exactly  disqualified  for  the  character !" 

Fanny  glanced  at  his  exterior — a  square  figure,  a 
tightly-buttoned  coat,   a  close-shayed  face,   marked 


158  THE  WHITE  KOSE. 

with  deep  lines,  and  illumined  by  a  prominent  red 
nose. 

She  laughed  and  shook  her  head. 

"  Don't  keep  me  long  then,  Mr.  Bruff,  and  don't 
make  love  to  me  in  earnest,  please,  more  than  you 
can  help." 

While  she  sj)oke  she  looked  anxiously  along  the 
passage,  as  though  afraid  of  observation. 

Mr.  Brujff  at  once  became  Rinaldo  to  the  core. 

"Stand  there,  madam,  I  beg  of  you,"  said  he. 
' '  A  Kttle  farther  off,  if  you  please.  Head  turned 
somewhat  away,  and  a  softening  glance.  Could  you 
manage  a  softening  glance,  do  you  think,  when  I 
come  to  the  cue  ^  and  dies  beneath  your  scorn  V  Are 
you  ready?"  and  Mr.  Bruff  plumped  down  on  his 
knees  once  more  to  begin  it  all  over  again. 

Fanny  threw  herself  into  the  part.  It  was  evi- 
dently not  the  first  time  that  she  had  thus  served 
as  a  lay-figure,  so  to  speak,  for  the  prosecution  of 
Mr.  BrufiPs  studies  in  his  art.  She  sneered,  she 
flouted,  she  bridled,  she  languished,  and  finally  bent 
over  his  close-cropped  head  in  an  access  of  tender- 
ness reKeved  by  a  flood  of  tears,  with  an  air  of  pas- 
sionate reality  that,  as  Mr.  Bruff  observed  while  he 
wiped  the  dust  from  his  trousers,  and  the  perspira- 


GOOSE-STEP.  159 

tion  from  liis  face,  was  "more  touching,  and  infinitely 
more  true,  than  nature  itself." 

"  You  were  born  to  be  an  actress,"  said  he  ;  "  and 
I  shall  take  care  that  you  have  box- orders  every 
night  while  our  company  remains.  It  is  a  pleasure 
to  know,  even  in  such  empty  houses  as  these,  that 
there  is  one  person  to  whom  a  man  can  play  and  feel 
that  his  efforts  are  appreciated,  and  the  niceties  of 
his  calling  understood." 

Then  Mr.  Bruff  lifted  his  hat  with  an  air  com- 
bining, as  he  was  persuaded,  the  roistering  demeanour 
of  professed  libertinism  with  the  dignity  of  a  stage 
nobleman,  siecle  Louis  Quatorzey  and  went  his  way 
rejoicing  to  the  adjacent  tavern. 

Fanny  must,  indeed,  have  been  a  good  actress. 
Ko  sooner  was  he  gone  than  her  whole  face  fell,  and 
on  its  fresh  rosy  beauty  came  that  anxious  look  it  is 
so  painful  to  see  in  the  countenances  of  the  young, 
the  look  that  is  never  there  unless  the  conscience  be 
ill  at  ease.  The  look  of  a  wounded,  weary  spirit 
dissatisfied  with  itself.  She  waited  on  the  landing 
for  a  minute  or  two,  listening  intently,  then  stole 
down-stairs,  ghded  along  the  passage  on  tip-toe,  and 
with  a  pale  cheek  and  beating  heart  turned  the 
handle  of  the  sitting-room  door. 


160  THE  WHITE    ROSE. 

The  apartment  was  empty,  and  Fanny  di-ew  breatli. 
On  the  table  lay  a  letter  that  had  arrived  but  a  few 
minutes  by  the  post.  She  pounced  upon  it,  and  fled 
upstairs  as  noiselessly,  but  far  more  quickly  than 
she  came  down.  Then  she  locked  the  door,  and  tore 
open  the  envelope  with  the  cruel  gesture  of  one  who 
destroys  some  venomous  or  obnoxious  reptile. 

Had  she  been  but  half  an  hour  later,  had  the  post 
been  delayed,  had  an  accident  happened  to  the  mail- 
train,  my  story  would  never  have  been  written. 
Ah !  these  little  bits  of  paper,  what  destinies  they 
carry  about  with  them,  imder  their  trim  envelopes 
and  their  demure,  neatly-written  addresses  !  "We 
stick  a  penny  stamp  on  their  outside,  and  that  modest 
insurance  covers  a  freight  that  is  sometimes  worth 
more  than  all  the  gold  and  silver  in  the  country. 
How  we  thirst  for  them  to  arrive  !  How  blank  our 
faces,  and  how  dull  our  hearts,  when  they  fail  us  ! 
How  bitter  we  are,  how  imkind  and  unjust  towards 
the  guiltless  correspondent,  whom  we  make  answer- 
able for  a  hundred  possibilities  of  accident !  And 
with  what  a  reaction  of  tenderness  returns  the  flow 
of  an  afiection  that  has  been  thus  obstructed  for  a 
day! 

Fanny  read  the  letter  over  more  than  once.     The 


GOOSE-STEP.  161 

first  time  her  face  took  the  leaden,  ashy  hue  of  the 
dead  ;  but  her  courage  seldom  failed  her  long,  either 
for  good  or  evil,  and  there  was  a  very  resolute  look 
about  her  eyes  and  mouth  ere  she  was  half-way 
through  the  second  perusal.  Had  it  reached  its 
rightful  owner,  I  think  it  would  haye  been  covered 
with  kisses  and  laid  next  to  a  warm,  impulsive, 
wayward,  but  loving  heart.  It  was  a  production, 
too,  that  might  have  been  read  aloud  at  Charing 
Cross  without  prejudice  to  the  writer's  modesty  and 
fair  fame.     Here  it  is  : — 

"  Dear  Mr.  Aixslie, — I  have  to  thank  you  for 
your  letter  in  papa's  name  and  my  own.  He  was 
very  much  pleased  to  hear  you  had  joined  your 
regiment,  and  we  all  wish  you  every  success  and 
happiness  in  your  new  profession.  "We  were  disap- 
j)ointed  not  to  see  you  before  you  left  Mr.  Archer, 
who  always  speaks  of  you  as  his  favourite  piqn I  ; 
and,  indeed,  I  had  no  idea,  when  we  went  to  London, 
that  you  were  going  to  leave  our  neighbourhood  so 
soon.  We  should  certainly  have  put  off  our  journey 
for  a  day  or  two  had  we  thought  we  were  not  even 
to  bid  you  good-bye.  But  you  know  you  have  our 
very  best  wishes  for  your  welfare.     I  will  give  your 

VOL.  1.  M 


162  THE  WHITE  ROSE. 

message  to  papa,  and  shall  be  so  glad  to  hear  again 
if  we  can  be  of  any  service  to  jou  here.  Even  if 
you  have  nothing  t'ety  particular  to  sa?/,  you  may  find 
time  to  send  us  a  few  lines.  Your  favourite  roses 
are  not  yet  faded,  and  I  gathered  some  this  morn- 
ing, which  are  standing  on  my  writing-table  now. 
Good-bye,  dear  Mr.  Ainslie.  With  kindest  regards 
from  us  all,  believe  me  ever 

*'  Yours  very  truly, 

"  Leoxora  Welby." 

;    "  Marston  Eectory,  Sept.  — th." 

Then  the  last  page  was  crossed  (quite  unneces- 
sarily, for  there  was  plenty  of  space  below  the  sig- 
nature) with  two  lines, — "  I  think  I  have  written 
you  a  letter  as  correct  and  proper  as  your  own,  but 
I  was  so  glad  to  get  it  all  the  same." 

Fanny's  smile  was  not  pleasant  when  she  concluded 
this  harmless  efiusion.  It  deepened  and  hardened 
round  her  mouth,  too,  while  she  placed  the  letter 
in  an  envelope,  sealed  it  carefully,  and  directed  it  to 

John  Yandeleur,  Esq.,  Oakover, shire  ;  but  it 

left  her  face  very  grave  and  sad,  under  a  smart  little 
bonnet  and  double  black  veil,  while  she  walked 
stealthily  to  the  post-office  and  dropped  her  missive 
in  the  box. 


GOOSE-STEP.  163 

Site  had  plenty  of  time  to  spare.  Gerard  was 
still  in  the  little  mess-room  of  the  2o0th  Eegiment, 
smoking  a  cigar,  after  the  squad  drill  it  was  necessary 
he  should  undergo,  and  thinking  of  !^s'orah,  perhaps 
less  than  usual,  because  he  was  persuaded  that  his 
own  letter  must  ere  this  have  come  to  hand  and 
that  she  would  answer  it  at  once. 

He  had  joined  his  regiment,  or  rather  its  depot, 
immediately  on  his  appointment,  without  availing 
himself  of  the  two  months'  leave  indulgently  granted 
by  the  Horse  Guards  on  such  occasions, — his  great- 
imcle,  an  arbitrary  and  unreasonable  old  gentleman, 
having  made  this  condition  on  purchasing  the  com- 
mission and  outfit  for  his  relative.  Ainslie  arrived 
in  barracks  consequently  without  uniforms,  and  with- 
out furniture,  so  he  learned  a  good  deal  of  his 
drill  in  a  shooting-jacket ;  and  as  the  depot  was 
on  the  eve  of  a  march,  took  cheap  lodgings  in  the 
neighbourhood,  which  he  seldom  visited  but  to  di-ess 
for  dinner  and  go  to  bed.  He  had  led  this  life 
for  some  little  time  before  he  could  summon  up 
courage  to  write  to  Miss  "Welby,  and  he  was  novr 
looking  forward  with  a  thrill  of  deKght  to  finding  her 
answer  at  his  lodgings,  when  he  returned,  which  he 
meant  to  do  the  moment  he  had  finished  his  cigar. 


164  THE  WHITE   ROSE. 

The  conversation  of  Ensign  Ainslie  and  his  com- 
rades, I  am  bound  to  admit,  was  not  instructive  nor 
even  amusing.  They  were  smoking,  and  partaking 
also  of  soda-water  strengthened  by  stimulants,  in  a 
bare,  comfortless,  little  room,  littered  with  news- 
papers, and  redolent  of  tobacco,  both  stale  and 
fresh.  Time  seemed  to  hang  heavy  on  their  hands. 
They  lounged  and  straddled  in  every  variety  of 
attitude,  on  hard  wooden  chairs  ;  and  they  spoke 
in  every  variety  of  tone,  from  the  gruff  bass  of  the 
red-faced  veteran  to  the  hrokeji  falsetto  of  the  lately- 
joined  recruit.  A  jaded  mess- waiter,  or  a  trim 
orderly- sergeant,  appeared  at  intervals  ;  but  such 
interruptions  in  no  way  affected  the  flow  of  conver- 
sation, which  turned  on  the  personal  charms  of  a 
lady,  ascertained  to  have  arrived  lately  in  the 
town,  and  the  mystery  attached  to  her  choice  of 
residence. 

Captain  Hughes,  a  colonial  lady-killer  of  much 
experience,  expressed  himself  in  terms  of  unqualified 
approval. 

"  The  best-looking  woman  I've  seen  since  we  left 
Manchester,"  insisted  the  Captain,  dogmatically. 
"  I  followed  her  all  the  way  down  Market  Street, 
yesterday,  and  I  give  you  my  honour,  sir,  she's  as 


GOOSE-STEP.  165 

straight  on  her  ankles  as  an  opera-dancer ;  with  a 
figure — I  haven't  seen  such  a  figure  since  I  got 
my  company.  I'll  tell  you ;  she  reminded  me  of 
*  the  Slasher.'  You  remember  '  the  Slasher/  Jones  ? 
— girl  that  threw  you  over,  last  fall,  so  coolly,  at 
Quebec." 

Jones,  a  young  warrior  of  fair  complexion,  and 
unobtrusive  manners,  owned  that  he  had  not  for- 
gotten ;  blushing  the  while  uncomfortably,  because 
that  '^  the  Slasher's  "  glances  had  wounded  him  in 
a  vital  place. 

*'Iknow  where  she  lives,  too,"  resumed  the 
Captain,  triumphantly.  "  I  followed  the  trail,  sir, 
like  a  Red  Indian.  Ah  !  they  can't  dodge  a  fellow 
that's  had  my  practice  in  the  game,  even  if  they 
want  to,  which  they  don't.  I'd  two  checks — one 
at  a  grocer's,  and  one  at  a  glove- shop  ;  but  I  ran 
her  to  ground  at  last." 

"  You'll  tell  ?}ie  !  "  lisped  little  Baker,  commonly 
called  *^  Crumbs,"  the  youngest  of  the  party,  senior 
only  to  Gerard  in  the  regiment,  but  looking  like  a 
mere  child  by  his  side.  "  You'll  tell  me,  of  course, 
because  I'm  in  your  own  Company.  You  can't  get 
out  of  it ;  and  we'U  walk  down  this  afternoon,  and 
call  together." 


166  THE  WHITE  KOSE. 

"  Crumbs  !  "  observed  bis  captain,  impressively, 
'^you're  tbe  last  man  in  tbe  regiment  I'd  trust." 
(Crumbs  looked  immensely  deligbted).  "Besides, 
you  little  beggar,  you  ougbt  to  be  back  at  scbool ; 
and  if  I  did  my  duty  as  tbe  Captain  of  your  Com- 
pany, I'd  make  tbe  Adjutant  write  to  your  motber 
and  teU  ber  so." 

''Crumbs,"  no  wbit  abasbed,  ordered  a  tumbler 
of  brandy  and  soda  as  big  as  bimself,  from  wbicb 
be  presently  emerged,  breatbless,  and  observed,  for 
anybody  to  take  up — "  Ainslie's  cut  you  all  out. 
He  lodges  in  tbe  same  bouse  !  " 

Every  eye  was  now  turned  on  AinsKe,  and  Cap- 
tain Hugbes  began  to  fear  a  rival  in  tbe  line  be 
bad  followed  bitberto  witb  sucb  success.  "  I  don't 
tbink  it  can  be  tbe  same  woman,"  said  be,  cbecking 
tbe  mirtb  of  tbe  youngsters  witb  a  frown.  "  Sbe 
lives  in  Ainslie's  lodgings,  I  grant  you,  but  sbe 
can  only  bave  come  tbere  yesterday,  or  I  must  bave 
seen  ber  before.     Isn't  it  so,  Ainslie  ?  " 

"  You  know  more  about  it  tban  I  do,"  answered 
tbe  unconscious  Gerard.  "  Tbe  only  women  I've 
seen  in  tbe  bouse  are  Motber  Briggs  berself  and  a 
poor  servant- girl  tbey  call  H'Ann — very  strong  of 
tbe   H.     It  must   bave   been    Motber   Briggs  you 


GOOSE-STEP.  167 

followed  home,  Huglies.  I'll  congratulate  lier  on 
lier  conquest  wlien  I  go  back/' 

But  Captain  Hughes,  nettled  by  loud  shouts  of 
laughter,  vigorously  repudiated  such  an  accusation, 
and  indeed  seemed  inclined  to  treat  the  matter 
with  some  sKght  display  of  temper,  when  the 
harmless  Jones,  who  had  been  cooling  his  face  by 
looking  out  at  window,  changed  the  subject  for 
another  almost  equally  congenial  to  his  comrades. 

"  Bless'd  if  there  isn't  Snipe  dismounting  at  the 
gate  !  "  he  exclaimed  joyfully ;  "  there's  a  drummer 
holding  his  nag.  "What  a  spicy  chestnut  it  is ! 
Holloa,  Snipy !  come  in,  won't  you,  and  have  a 
B.  and  S.  ?  " 

A  voice  was  heard  to  reply  in  the  affirmative ; 
and  before  the  B.  and  S. — signifying  a  beaker  of 
brandy  and  soda-water — could  make  its  appearance, 
Mr.  Snipe  walked  into  the  room,  and  sat  himself 
down  amongst  the  officers  with  some  little  shame - 
facedness,  which  he  strove  to  conceal  by  squaring 
his  elbows,  pulling  down  his  shirt-cuffs,  and  coaxing 
a  luxuriant  crop  of  brown  whiskers  under  his  chin. 
Mr.  Snipe  was  one  of  those  enterjDrising  individuals 
who  make  a  livelihood  by  riding  steeplechases,  and 
are  yet  supposed  by  a  pious  fiction  never  to  receive 


108  THE   WHITE  ROSE. 

money  for  thus  exerting  tlieir  energies  and  risking 
their  necks.  Concerning  Mr.  Snipe's  antecedents, 
the  officers  of  the  250th  were  pleasantly  ignorant. 
He  had  rented  a  farm,  and  failed.  Had  gone 
into  business  as  a  horse-dealer,  and  failed.  Had 
been  appointed  to  the  Militia,  but  somehow  never 
joined  his  corps.  Had  been,  ostensibly,  in  all 
the  good  things  of  the  Turf  for  the  last  three 
years  ;  yet  seemed  to  be  none  the  richer,  and  none 
the  less  hungry  for  a  chance.  Had  been  even 
taken  into  partnership  by  a  large  cattle  dealer, 
when  at  his  lowest  ebb,  and  bought  out  of  the 
concern  by  his  confiding  principal  before  three 
months  expired.  Mr.  Snipe  always  said  he  was 
too  sharp  for  the  business,  and,  I  believe,  his  partner 
thought  so  too.  Since  then  he  had  been  riding  at 
all  weights,  over  all  courses,  wherever  horses  were 
pitted  against  each  other  to  gallop  and  jump,  or  to 
be  pulled  and  fall,  as  the  case  might  be,  and  the 
trainers'  orders  might  direct.  Mr.  Snipe  had  figured 
in  France,  in  Germany,  in  Belgium,  and  once  on  a 
thrice  auspicious  occasion  had  been  within  a  stirrup 
leather's  thickness  of  winning  the  Liverpool ;  that 
is  to  say,  but  for  its  breaking  he  couldn't  have 
lost !     He  seemed  in  easy  circumstances  for  a  con- 


GOOSE-STEP.  169 

siderable  period  after  this  misfortune,  smoked  the 
best  of  cigars,  and  drank  a  pint  of  sherry  every  day, 
between  hmcheon  and  dinner-time. 

This  gentleman  ^vas  a  wiry,  well-built,  athletic 
man,  somewhat  below  the  middle  size,  but  extremely 
strong  for  his  weight.  He  could  shoot,  play  rackets, 
whist,  and  cricket  better  than  most  people,  and  was 
a  consummate  horseman  on  any  animal  under  any 
circumstances.  His  countenance,  though  good-look- 
ing, was  not  prepossessing  ;  and  his  manners  argued 
want  of  confidence,  not  so  much  in  his  impudence  as 
in  his  social  standing.  What  he  might  have  been 
among  ladies  I  am  not  prepared  to  say,  but  he 
seemed  awkward  and  ill  at  ease  even  before  such 
indulgent  critics  as  the  officers  of  the  2o0th  Foot. 

He  carried  it  off,  however,  with  a  certain  assump- 
tion of  bravado,  and  entered  the  mess-room  with 
that  peculiar  gait — half  limp,  half  swagger — which 
it  is  impossible  for  any  man  to  accomplish  who  does 
not  spend  the  greatest  part  of  his  Hfe  in  the  saddle. 
Captain  Hughes,  as  possessing  an  animal  of  his 
own  in  training,  treated  him  with  considerable 
deference ;  while  the  younger  officers,  including 
Jones,  gazed  on  him  with  an  admiration  almost 
sublime  in  its  intensitv. 


170  THE  WHITE  EOSE. 

"  How's  the  horse  ?  "  said  this  worthy,  addressing 
himself  at  once  to  the  Captain,  without  taking  any- 
more notice  of  his  entertainers  than  a  down-cast, 
circular  half-bow,  to  be  divided  amongst  them ; 
"how's  'Booby  by  Idle-boy?'  You  haven't 
scratched  him,  have  ye,  at  the  last  minute  ?  I  tell 
ye,  he'll  carry  all  the  money  to-morrow ;  and  he 
ought  to  be  near  winning,  too — see  if  he  won't !  " 

"  The  horse  is  doing  good  work,"  answered 
Hughes,  delighted  to  be  thus  recognised  in  his 
double  capacity  of  sportsman  and  dandy  before  all 
his  young  admirers.  "  I  make  no  secrets  about  him. 
He  galloped  this  morning  with  '  Fleur-de-Lys,' 
and  he  will  run  to-morrow  strictly  on  the  square." 

Mr.  Snipe  shot  a  glance  from  his  keen  eye  in 
the  speaker's  face,  and  looked  down  at  his  own  boots 
again  directly. 

"  Of  course !  of  course  !  "  he  repeated ;  "  and 
you  can't  get  more  than  two  to  one  about  him, 
neither  here  nor  in  town.  Who's  to  ride  him, 
Captain  ?  I  suppose  you  couldn't  get  up  at  the 
weight  ?  " 

"  Impossible,"  answered  Hughes,  complacently, 
and  trying  to  look  as  if  he  had  ever  dreamt  of  such 
a  thing.     "My  brother   officer,    Mr.   Ainslie,   has 


GOOSE-STEP.  171 

promised  to  steer  him  for  me  to-morrow ;  and  I 
agree  with  you  we  have  a  yery  fair  chance  of 
winning." 

Gerard,  thus  distinguished,  came  forward  from 
the  fire-place,  and  observed,  modestly  : 

"  I'U  do  my  best ;  but  you  know,  Hughes,  I  have 
never  ridden  a  hurdle-race  in  my  life." 

Mr.  Snipe's  little  red  betting-book  was  half-way 
out  of  his  pocket,  but  at  this  candid  avowal  he 
thrust  it  back  again  unopened.  His  quick  eye  had 
taken  in  G-erard\s  active  figure  and  frank,  fearless 
face,  without  seeming  to  be  lifted  from  the  ground ; 
and  he  knew  how  dangerous,  on  a  good  horse,  was 
an  inexperienced  performer,  who  would  go  away 
in  front.  On  second  thoughts,  however,  he  drew  it 
out  once  more  ;  and  taking  a  -puR  at  his  brandy  and 
soda,  asked,  in  a  very  busiuess-like  tone — 

"  What  will  anybody  lay  me  against  '  Lothario  ? ' 
I'll  take  six  to  one  he's  placed.  First,  second,  or 
third — 1,  2,  3,  or  a  win.  Come  !  he's  as  slow  as  a 
mile- stone,  but  he  can  sta?/  for  a  week.  I'll  take 
five  if  I  ride  him  myself !  " 

Then  began  a  hubbub  of  voices,  a  production  of 
betting-books,  and  a  confusion  of  tongues,  in  the 
midst  of  which  Gerard  made  his  escape  to  his  own 


172  THE  WHITE  ROSE. 

lodgings,  and  rushed  to  tlie  table  whereon  lie  was 
accustomed  to  find  his  letters.  Something  like  a 
pang  of  real  physical  pain  shot  through  him  to  see 
it  bare,  and  for  one  moment  he  felt  bitterly  angry 
in  his  disappointment.  The  next  came  a  rush  of 
contending  feelings — love,  humiliation,  mistrust, 
despondency,  and  a  morbid,  unworthy  desire  that 
she,  too,  might  learn  what  it  was  to  sufier  the  pain 
she  had  chosen  to  inflict.  Then  his  pride  rose  to 
the  rescue,  and  he  resolved  to  leave  off  caring  for 
anything,  take  life  as  it  came,  and  enjoy  the  material 
pleasures  of  the  present,  unburdened  by  thought  for 
the  future,  still  less  (and  again  the  pain  shot  through 
him)  haunted  by  memories  of  the  past.  Altogether 
he  was  in  a  likely  frame  of  mind,  when  fairly 
mounted  on  "  Booby  by  Idle-boy,"  to  make  the  pace 
very  good  before  he  was  caught. 


CHAPTER  XIY. 


WEAE.I^'G     THE     GREEN. 


The  iLumours  and  events  of  a  remote  country  race- 
course would  be  interesting,  I  imagine,  only  to  tlie 
most  sporting  readers  ;  and  for  such  there  is  an 
ample  supply  provided  in  a  periodical  literature, 
exclusively  devoted  to  those  amusements  or  pursuits 
which  many  people  make  the  chief  business  of  life. 
It  is  unnecessary,  therefore,  to  dwell  upon  the 
various  incidents  of  such  a  gathering  :  the  feeble 
bustle  at  the  railway  station,  the  spurious  excitement 
promoted  by  early  beer  at  the  hotel,  the  general  stag- 
nation in  the  streets,  or  the  dreary  appearance  of 
that  thinly- sprinkled  meadow,  which  on  all  other 
days  in  the  year  was  called  the  Cow-pasture,  but  on 
this  occasion  was  entitled  the  Race-course.  Let  us 
rather  take  a  peep  at  the  horses  themselves  as  they 


174  THE  WHITE  ROSE. 

are  walked  to  and  fro  in  a  railed- off  space,  behind 
a  rough  wooden  edifice  doing  duty  for  a  stand,  and 
judge  with  our  own  eyes  of  their  claims  to  success. 

There  are  four  about  to  start  for  the  hurdle  race, 
and  two  of  these,  "  Tom-tit "  and  "  The  Conspirator," 
are  so  swaddled  up  in  clothing,  that  nothing  of  them 
is  to  be  detected  save  some  doubtful  legs  and  two 
long  square  tails.  Their  riders  are  drinking  sherry, 
with  very  pale  faces,  preparatory  to  "  weighing  in  ;" 
and  it  is  remarkable  that  their  noses  borrow  more 
colour  from  the  generous  fluid  than  their  cheeks. 
Notwithstanding  so  re-assuring  an  emplojonent,  they 
have  little  confidence  in  themselves  or  their  horses. 
They  do  not  expect  to  win,  and  are  not  likely  to  be 
disappointed  ;  for  having  heard  great  things  of 
"  Booby  by  Idle-boy,"  and  entertaining  besides  mis- 
givings that  Mr.  Snipe  would  hardly  have  brought 
"  Lothario "  all  this  distance  for  nothing,  it  has 
dawned  upon  them  that  they  had  better  have  saved 
their  entrance-money.  Besides,  they  have  even  now 
seen  some  work-people  putting  up  the  hurdles,  and 
they  wish  they  were  well  out  of  it  altogether. 

Mr.  Snipe,  on  the  contrary,  clad  in  a  knowing 
great-coat,  with  goloshes  over  his  neat  racing  boots, 
and  a  heavy  straight  whip  under  his  arm,  walks  into 


WEAKING   THE   GREEN.  175 

the  enclosure,  accompanied  by  a  friend  as  sharp-look- 
ing as  himself,  with  his  usual  downcast  glances  and 
equestrian  shamble,  but  with  a  confidence  in  his  own 
powers  that  it  requires  no  sherry-  to  fortify  nor  to 
create.  He  superintends  carefully  the  saddling  and 
bridling  of  Lothario,  an  attention  the  animal  acknow- 
ledges by  laid-back  ears  and  a  well-directed  attempt 
to  kick  his  jockey  in  the  stomach.  Mr.  Snipe  grins 
playfully.  "  If  you  was  only  as  fond  of  me  as  I  am 
of  you !''  says  he,  between  his  teeth  ;  and  taking  his 
friend's  arm,  whispers  in  his  ear.  The  friend — 
who  looks  like  a  gambling- house  keeper  out  of  em- 
ployment— disappears,  losing  himself  with  marvellous 
rapidity  in  the  crowd  beneath  the  stand. 

And  now  Gerard,  clad  in  boots  and  breeches  of 
considerable  pretension,  and  attired  in  a  green  silk 
jacket  and  white  cap — the  colours  of  Captain  Hughes 
— emerges  from  the  weighing- shed,  where  he  has 
first  pulled  down  the  indispensable  twelve  stone  ;  and 
surrounded  by  admiring  brother  ofiicers,  walks 
daintily  towards  his  horse.  The  young  man's  eye  is 
bright,  and  the  colour  stands  in  his  cheek.  He 
means  to  win  if  he  can,  and  is  not  the  least  nervous. 
Captain  Hughes,  who  thinks  it  looks  correct  to  be  on 
extremely  confidential  terms,  remains  assiduously  at 


176  THE  WHITE  ROSE. 

his  elbow,  and  whispers  instructions  in  his  ear  from 
time  to  time,  as  he  has  seen  great  noblemen  at  Ascot 
clo  by  some  celebrated  jockey.  "  Don't  disappoint 
the  horse,  Gerard,"  says  he,  one  minute ;  "  Perhaps 
you'd  better  wait  on  Lothario,  and  come  when  you 
see  Snipe  begin,"  the  next  ;  with  yarious  other 
directions  of  a  contradictory  nature,  to  each  of  which 
Gerard  contents  himself  by  answering,  "  All  right !" 
meaning  religiously  to  do  his  very  best  for  the  race. 

But  if  the  rider's  nerves  are  unshaken  by  the  pros- 
pect of  a  struggle  for  victory,  as  much  cannot  be  said 
for  the  horse.  "  Booby  by  Idle-boy "  is  not  quite 
thorough-bred,  but  has,  nevertheless,  been  put 
through  so  severe  a  preparation  that  it  might  have 
served  to  disgust  an  "  Eclipse."  In  the  language  of 
the  stable,  he  has  been  *'  trained  to  fiddle -strings  ;  " 
and  neither  courage  nor  temper  are  the  better  for 
the  ordeal.  His  skin  looks  smooth,  but  his  flanks 
are  hollow  ;  his  eye  is  excited,  his  ears  are  restless ; 
he  champs  and  churns  at  his  bridle  till  the  foam 
stands  thickly  on  the  bit ;  he  winces  at  the  slightest 
movement,  and  betrays  altogether  an  irritable  desire 
to  be  off,  and  get  the  whole  thing  over,  that  argues  ill 
for  success. 

Mr.  Snipe,  sitting  at  his  ease  on  Lothario,  watches 


WEARING   THE   GREEN.  177 

Ms  adversary,  ST\'ung  by  a  soldier-servant  into  the 
saddle. 

*'  I'm  blessed  if  tbe  young  \in  isn't  a  workman  !  " 
be  mutters,  while  he  marks  Gerard's  easy  seat,  and 
the  light  touch  with  which  one  hand  fingers  the  rein, 
while  the  other  wanders  caressingly  over  the  horse's 
neck ;  but  his  quick  eye  has  already  marked  that  the 
Booby's  curb-chain  is  somewhat  tight,  and  sidling 
up  just  out  of  kicking  distance,  Mr.  Snipe  renews 
his  offer  to  take  five  to  one  about  ''  his  ot\tl  brute," 
observing  that  ''it  is  a  sporting  bet,  for  he  does 
not  really  believe  Lothario  has  the  ghost  of  a 
chance  !  " 

Gerard  declines,  however  ;  alleging  that  he  is 
only  there  to  ride,  and  knows  nothing  about  the 
merits  of  the  horses,  while  he  turns  Booby  out  of  the 
enclosure,  and  sends  him  for  a  "  spin "  down  the 
course,  followed  by  the  others,  with  the  exception  of 
Mr.  Snipe,  who  contents  himself  with  a  mild, 
shuffling  little  apology  for  a  trot,  that  by  no  means 
enhances  Lothario's  character  amongst  the  spectators. 

They  are  much  more  pleased  with  the  ''  Boobv 
by  Idle-boy,"  who  goes  raking  down  the  meadow, 
reaching  wildly  at  his  bridle,  and  givingthe  rider 
a  great  deal  of  unnecessary  trouble  to  steady  and 

VOL.    I.  N 


178  THE  WHITE  ROSE. 

keep  his  head  in  the  right  place.  Gerard  handles 
him  with  great  skill,  and  pulling  up  opposite  the 
stand,  receives  yet  further  instructions  from  Captain 
Hughes,  who  has  already  got  his  glasses  out  of 
their  case. 

"  Don't  disappoint  him,  Gerard  !  "  he  reiterates 
loudly,  looking  roimd  the  while  for  the  applause  he 
considers  his  due.  "  Make  the  pace  as  good  as  you 
can  !  Come  away  with  him  in  front,  and  win  as  you 
Hke  ! " 

Mr.  Snipe  here  telegraphs  a  nod  to  his  friend 
under  the  stand,  and  that  speculator,  after  a  few 
hurried  words  with  a  respectable  farmer  and  an 
officer  of  the  250th,  takes  a  pencil  from  his  mouth 
and  writes  something  down  in  a  little  red  book. 

The  Starter,  a  neighbouring  Master  of  Harriers, 
already  brandishes  a  flag  in  his  hand.  Let  us  go 
up  into  the  stand,  and  witness  the  race  from  that 
convenient  vantage-ground. 

A  very  well-dressed  woman,  with  a  black  veil  over 
her  face  so  thickly  doubled  as  to  serve  for  a  mask, 
is  looking  on  with  considerable  interest,  and  whisper- 
ing an  observation  from  time  to  time  in  the  ear  of 
her  cavalier — a  close- shaven  man,  with  a  prominent 
red  nose.    She  is  evidently  nervous,  and  crushes  into 


WEAEING  THE   GREEX.  179 

illegible  creases  the  printed  card  she  holds  in  her 
hand.  Mr.  BrufP,  on  the  contrary — for  it  is  that 
celebrated  actor  who  has  taken  on  himself  the  pleas- 
ing task  of  attending  Fanny  Draper  to  the  races — is 
minutely  observant  of  the  demeanour  affected  by 
those  who  ride.  His  manager  meditates  bringing 
out  a  piece  of  his  own  writing,  under  the  title  of 
"  Fickle  Fortune  ;  or,  the  Gentleman  Jockey,"  and 
Mr.  Bruff  cannot  suffer  such  an  opportunity  as  the 
present  to  go  by  unimproyed.  Eyery  turn  of  Mr. 
Snipe's  body,  every  inflection  of  his  somewhat  un- 
pleasant voice,  is  a  lesson  for  the  actor  in  the  leading 
character  he  hopes  hereafter  to  assume. 

Fanny  gazes  at  Gerard  with  all  her  eyes.  There  is 
something  very  romantic  and  captivating  to  her  ill- 
regulated  mind  in  the  terms  on  which  they  stand. 
She  is  concerned  in  an  intrigue  of  which  he  is  the 
principal  object  ;  she  is  Kving,  unknown  to  him, 
in  the  same  house  ;  she  is  watching  his  actions,  and, 
above  all,  his  correspondence,  every  hour  of  the  day ; 
and  she  is  doing  her  best  and  wicJieded  to  detach 
him  from  the  woman  he  loves.  There  is  a  horrible 
fascination  in  all  this,  no  doubt ;  and  then,  how  well 
he  looks  in  his  silk  jacket  ! 

"  He's  a  handsome  fellow,  too,  isn't  he,  that  one 


180  THE  WHITE  ROSE. 

in  green  ? "  she  whispers  to  Mr.  Bruff.     ''  I  hope 
he'll  win,  I'm  sure — and  I  think  he  must !  " 

"  He's  well  made-up,"  answers  her  companion,, 
absently  ;  ''  but  he  don't  look  the  part  like  the  quiet 
one.  I  see  how  it's  done  !  A  meaning  expression 
throughout ;  a  glance  that  nothing  escapes  ;  a  flash 
at  intervals,  but  the  general  tone  very  much  kept 
down.  It's  original  business.  It's  striking  out  a 
new  Hne  altogether.  I  think  it  ought  to  suit 
me!" 

Panny  turns  very  pale. 

"  Eother  !  "  says  she.      *'  They're  ofi" !  " 

So  they  are.  After  several  false  starts,  occasioned 
I  am  bound  to  admit  by  the  perverseness  of  Mr. 
Snipe,  and  which  nearly  drive  "  The  Booby  "  mad, 
while  they  elicit  much  bad  language  and  a  threat 
of  complaint  to  the  Stewards  from  the  Master  of 
Harriers,  who  is  accustomed  to  have  things  his  ot\ti 
way,  the  four  horses  get  off,  and  bound  lightly  over 
the  first  flight  of  hurdles,  with  no  more  interesting 
result  than  that  Conspirator  nearly  unships  his  rider, 
and  the  jockey  of  Tom- tit  loses  his  cap.  Then, 
keeping  pretty  close  together,  they  come  round  the 
far- end  of  the  meadow  at  a  pace  more  than  usually 
merry  for  the  commencement  of  a  race,  due  to  the 


WEARING   THE   GREEN.  181 

violence  of  the  Booby,  increased  by  Lothario's  proxi- 
mity at  his  quarters. 

And  now  they  reach  the  second  leap.  Tom-tit, 
following  the  others,  jumps  it  like  a  deer,  but  his 
jockey  tumbles  off,  and  lies  for  a  moment  motionless, 
as  if  he  was  hurt. 

Fanny  begins  to  think  it  dangerous,  and  averts 
her  eyes. 

"  Is  green  still  leading  ?  ^'  she  asks  in  a  faint  voice. 

"  Green  still  leading  !  '^  echoes  Mr.  Bruff ;  but  he 
is  thinking  less  of  the  sport  than  of  a  peculiar  twist 
in  Mr.  Snipe's  features  as  he  inspected  the  saddling 
of  his  horse  before  the  start. 

And  now  Conspirator  is  also  out  of  the  race,  and 
the  struggle  is  between  Lothario  and  The  Booby  as 
they  approach  the  last  flight  of  hurdles.  Fanny  can- 
not resist  raising  her  head  to  look,  but  she  is  horribly 
frightened.  Gerard  gathers  his  horse  very  skilfully 
for  the  efibrt,  but  The  Booby,  besides  being  fractious, 
is  also  blown.  Mr.  Snipe,  too,  on  Lothario,  has  now 
come  alongside,  and  without  actually  jostling  him, 
edges  his  otsti  horse,  which  is  in  perfect  command, 
near  enough  to  his  adversary's  to  discompose  him 
very  much  in  his  take-off.  The  Booby,  giving  his 
head  a  frantic  shake,  sticks  his  nose  in  the  air  and 


182  THE  WHITE  ROSE. 

refuses  to  be  pacified.  Gerard  is  only  aware  that 
his  horse  is  out  of  his  hand,  that  the  animal  has 
disappeared  somehow  between  its  rider's  legs,  that  a 
green  wall  of  turf  rises  perpendicularly  in  his  face, 
that  nose,  mouth,  and  eyes  are  filled  with  a  sweet, 
yet  acrid  fluid,  and  that  he  is  swallowed  up  alive  in 
a  heaying,  rolling,  earthy,  and  tenacious  embrace. 

What  Fanny  saw  was  a  shower  of  splintered  wood 
flying  into  the  air,  a  horse's  belly  and  gii'ths,  with 
four  kicking  legs  striking  convulsively  upward,  and 
a  green  jacket  motionless  on  the  sward,  shut  in,  ere 
she  could  breathe,  by  a  swarm  of  dark,  shifting 
figures,  increasing  in  an  instant  to  a  crowd. 

She  was  not  afraid  noic.  "  Mr.  Bruff !  "  exclaimed 
the  girl,  clutching  his  arm  in  a  vice,  and  turning  on 
him  a  white  face  and  a  pair  of  shining  eyes  that 
scared  even  the  actor,  "bring  the  fly  dovm  there — 
quick !  He  musn't  lie  on  the  damp  earth.  Don't 
stop  me.     Before  I  get  to  him  he  might " 

She  choked,  without  finishing  her  sentence,  but 
she  was  out  of  the  stand  like  a  lapwing,  while  Mr. 
Bruff,  with  almost  equal  alacrity,  went  to  fetch  the 

fly- 

He  could  not  but  observe,  however,  that  Mr.  Snipe, 
returning  to  weigh  after  an  easy  victory,  nodded  his 


WEAEIXG  THE   GREEN.  183 

head  to  his  confederate  with  a  gesture  that  was  worth 
rounds  of  applause.  He  overheard,  too,  a  remark 
that  accompanied  the  action — 

*'  You  may  bid  them  a  hundred-and-fifty  for  the 
Booby,  if  you  can't  get  him  for  less.  He'd  hare 
landed  it  if  he'd  been  properly  ridden,  I'll  lay  two 
to  one  ! " 


CHAPTER  XY. 


THE     WHITE     WITCH. 


*'  It  was  a  pity,"  said  half  the  county,  that  Mr. 
Yandeleur  "  gave  so  little  "  at  Oakover.  Never  was 
a  place  more  adapted  for  out-of-door  gatherings, 
having  for  their  object  the  wearing  of  becoming 
dresses  and  the  general  discomfiture  of  the  male 
sex.  There  were  walks  within  half  a  mile  of  the 
house,  along  which  it  was  impossible  to  stroll  in 
safety  with  a  fair  cohipanion  under  a  summer  sun. 
There  were  pheasant-houses  to  go  and  see,  standing 
apart  in  convenient  nooks  and  shaded  recesses.  There 
was  a  little  lake,  and  on  its  surface  floated  a  little 
skiff  calculated  to  hold  only  two  people  at  a  time. 
Above  all,  there  was  the  spring  of  ice-cold  water 
under  the  hill  in  the  deer-park,  that  was  obviously 
a  special  provision  of  nature  for  the  promotion  of 
pic-nics. 


"THE  WHITE  VriTCH."  185 

It  is  one  of  the  last  fine  days  of  a  summer  that 
has  lingered  on  into  the  early  autumn.  The  blue 
sky  is  laced  with  strips  of  motionless  white  cloud. 
The  sward  is  burnished  and  slippery  with  long- 
continued  drought.  Xot  a  blade  of  arid  grass,  not 
a  leaf  of  feathery,  yellowing  fern  stirs  in  the  warm, 
still,  sunny  atmosphere.  Gigantic  elms  stand  out 
in  masses  of  foliage  almost  black  -svith  the  luxuri- 
ance of  a  prime  that  is  just  upon  the  turn  ;  and 
from  their  fastnesses  the  wood-pigeon  pours  its 
drowsy  plaint — now  far,  now  near,  in  all  its  repeti- 
tions suggestive  still  of  touching  memories,  not 
unpleasing  languor,  and  melancholy  repose.  The 
deer  have  retired  to  the  farthest  extremity  of  their 
haunts,  scared,  it  would  seem,  by  the  white  legs 
of  two  Oakover  footmen,  moving  under  an  old  elm, 
unpacking  sundry  hampers,  and  laying  a  large 
tablecloth  on  the  grass  beneath  its  shade.  Yande- 
leur  understands  comfort,  and  with  him  a  pic-nic 
simply  means  the  best  possible  cold  dinner  that 
can  be  provided  by  a  French  cook,  laid  out  by 
servants  well-drilled  in  all  the  minute  observances 
of  a  great  house.  To-day  he  has  a  gathering  of  his 
neighbours  for  the  express  purpose  of  eating  and 
drinking  in  the   deer-park  instead  of  the   dining- 


186  THE  WHITE  ROSE. 

room.  He  is  coming  up  the  hill  now,  walking 
slowly  with  a  lady  on  his  arm,  and  followed  by  a 
pony- carriage,  a  barouche,  and  his  own  mail-phaeton, 
all  freighted  with  guests  who  prefer  a  drive  to  a 
half-mile  walk,  on  so  broiling  a  day.  The  lady  who 
has  taken  her  host's  arm  for  the  short  ascent  at  the 
end  of  their  journey  is  dressed,  as  usual,  in  pink. 
Miss  Tregunter  has  been  told  by  a  gentleman  now 
present  that  no  colour  suits  her  so  well.  Conse- 
quently she  is  pink  all  over  —  pink  di-ess,  pink 
bonnet,  pink  ribbons,  pink  cheeks.  "  Ton  my 
soul !  "  says  Yandeleur,  "  you  look  like  a  picotee  ! 
I  haven't  such  a  flower  in  the  garden.  I  wonder 
whether  you'd  bear  transplanting  !  "  Miss  Tre- 
gunter, conscious  that  such  a  remark,  though  it 
would  almost  amount  to  an  ofier  from  anybody  else, 
is  only  "  Mr.  Yandeleur's  way,'^  laughs  and  blushes, 
and  puts  her  pretty  pink  parasol  do^^ai  to  hide 
her  pretty  pink  face. 

Dolly  Egremont,  in  the  pony-carriage  with  Miss 
"Welby,  begins  to  fidget ;  and  Dandy  Burton  wishes 
he  had  put  on  the  other  neckcloth — the  violet  one. 

These  two  young  gentlemen  have  nearly  com- 
pleted the  term  of  their  studies  with  Mr.  Archer. 
Stimulated  by  Gerard's  appointment,  and  fired  with 


"THE  AVHITE   WITCH.'*'  187 

noble  emulation,  they  anticipate  the  dreaded  ordeal 
of  examination  next  week  not  without  misgi-vings, 
yet  devoutly  hope  it  may  be  their  luck  to  scrape 
through. 

Miss  "Welby  looks  very  prettj^  not  only  in  the 
eyes  of  her  father  behind  in  the  barouche — and 
persuaded  but  this  very  morning,  with  a  great  deal  of 
coaxing,  to  join  the  party — but  in  the  opinion  of 
every  other  gentleman  present  ;  nay,  even  the 
ladies,  though  they  protest  she  is  not  "  their  style," 
cannot  but  admit  that  ''the  girl  has  some  good 
points  about  her,  and  would  not  be  amiss  if  she 
didn't  look  so  dreadfully  pale,  and  had  a  little  more 
colouring  in  her  dress.'' 

!N'orah  does  look  pale,  and  quiet  as  is  her  costume, 
it  shows  more  colour  than  her  cheek.  Truth  to  tell, 
Miss  Welby  is  very  unhappy.  Day  after  day  she 
has  been  expecting  an  answer  from  Gerard  to  her 
kind,  playful,  and  affectionate  letter,  but  day  after 
day  she  has  been  disappointed.  Her  heart  sinks 
when  she  reflects  that  he  may  be  ill — that  some- 
thing dreadful  may  have  happened  to  him,  and 
she  knows  nothing  about  it;  worse  still,  that  he 
may  have  ceased  to  care  for  her,  and  what  is  there 
left  then  ?      It  galls  and  shames  her  to  believe  that 


188  THE  WHITE  EOSE. 

lie  has  used  lier  badly ;  and  were  lie  present,  she 
might  have  courage  to  show  she  was  offended ;  but 
he  is  far  away,  and  what  is  the  use  of  pride  or 
pique  ?  "V\Tiat  is  the  use  of  anything  ?  It  seems 
such  a  mockery  to  have  the  homage  of  every  one 
else  and  to  miss  the  only  eye  from  which  an  admiring 
glance  would  be  welcome ;  the  only  voice  from 
which  one  word  of  approval  would  thrill  direct  to 
her  heart. 

She  has  selected  Dolly  for  her  companion  in  the 
pony-carriage  because  she  cherishes  some  vague 
idea  that  Gerard  liked  him  better  than  the  others ; 
but  Dolly  is  unworthy  of  his  good  fortune,  having 
eyes  at  present  only  for  Miss  Tregunter,  whom  in 
her  pink  dress  this  young  gentleman  considers 
perfectly  irresistible. 

The  rest  of  the  party  are  paired  off  rather  by 
chance  than  inclination.  Dandy  Burton  has  found 
himself  placed  side  by  side  with  Lady  Baker,  and 
feels  thankful  that  their  short  drive  will  so  soon 
be  over,  and  he  can  select  a  more  congenial  com- 
panion for  the  rest  of  the  afternoon. 

Yandeleur,  a  thorough  man  of  the  world,  and 
when  once  started  quite  in  his  element  on  these 
occasions,  believes   that  he  has  now  paid  sufficient 


*'THE  WHITE  witch/'  189 

attention  to  Miss  Tregunter,  who,  being  an  heiress, 
is  supposed  to  exact  a  little  more  homage  than 
worse  portioned  damsels,  and  seeks  for  the  face  that 
has  begun  to  haunt  him  strangely  of  late — in  his 
business,  in  his  pleasures,  in  his  solitary  walks,  even 
in  his  dreams.  That  face  looks  pale,  unhappy,  and 
a  little  bored,  so  the  Squire  of  Oakover  resolves  to 
bide  his  time.  He  has  played  the  game  too  often 
not  to  know  its  niceties,  and  he  is  well  aware  that 
if  a  woman  feels  wearied  while  in  a  man's  society, 
she  unreasonably  connects  the  weariness  ever  after- 
wards with  the  companion,  rather  than  the  cause. 
In  the  two  or  three  glances  he  steals  at  her,  she 
seems  to  him  lovelier,  more  interesting,  more  be- 
witching than  ever.  Happiness  is  to  most  faces  a 
wonderful  beautifier  ;  but  there  are  people  who  look 
their  best  when  they  are  wretched ;  and  Xorah 
Welby  is  one  of  them. 

Yandeleur  turns  away  to  his  other  guests  with  a 
strange  gnawing  pain  at  his  heart,  that  he  never 
expected  to  feel  again.  It  reminds  him  of  the  old 
times,  twenty  years  ago ;  and  he  laughs  bitterly  to 
think  that  wicked,  and  worn,  and  weary  as  he  is, 
there  should  still  be  room  in  his  evil  breast  for 
the   sorrow   that   aches,    and  rankles,    and    festers. 


190  THE  WHITE  ROSE. 

that  according  to  a  man's  nature  exalts  Mm  to 
tlie  highest  standard  of  good,  or  sinks  him  to  the 
lowest  degradation  of  evil.  Twenty  years  ago,  too, 
he  knows  he  was  better  than  he  is  now.  Twenty 
years  ago  he  might  have  sacrificed  his  own  feelings 
to  the  happiness  of  a  woman  he  loved.  But  life 
is  short ;  it  is  too  late  for  such  childishness  now. 

"Burton,  take  ofi"  those  smart  gloves,  and  cut 
into  the  pie.  Miss  Tregunter,  come  a  little  more 
this  way,  and  you  -svill  be  out  of  the  sun.  Lady 
Baker,  I  ordered  that  shawl  expressly  for  you  to 
sit  upon.  Never  mind  the  salad,  Welby;  they'll 
mix  it  behind  the  scenes.  Champagne — yes ! 
There's  claret-cup  and  Badminton,  if  you  like  it 
better.  Mr.  Egremont,  I  hope  you  are  taking  care 
ofMiss  Welby." 

Dolly,  still  imeasy  about  the  pink  young  lady 
opposite,  heaps  his  neighbour's  plate  with  food,  and 
fills  her  glass  with  champagne.  Miss  Welby  looks 
more  bored  than  ever,  and  Yandeleur  begins  to 
fear  his  pic-nic  will  turn  out  a  failure  after  all. 

The  Dandy,  seldom  to  be  counted  on  in  an  emer- 
gency, advances,  however,  boldly  to  the  rescue. 
He  helps  everybody  round  him  to  meat  and  drink. 
He  compliments  Miss  Tregunter  on  her  dress ;  Miss 


"THE  WHITE  WITCH."  191 

"Welby,  who  eats  nothmg,  on  lier  appetite ;  and 
Lady  Baker,  who  drinks  a  good  deal,  on  her  brooch. 
Then  it  is  discovered  that  he  can  sjDin  forks  on  a 
champagne-cork  ;  and  by  degrees  people  begin  to  get 
sociable,  glasses  are  emptied,  tongues  loosened,  and 
the  deer,  feeding  half  a  mile  off,  raise  their  heads 
in  astonishment  at  the  babble  of  the  human  voice. 

Presently  somebody  wants  to  smoke.  It  is  not 
exactly  clear  with  whom  this  audacious  proposal 
originates,  but  Dandy  Burton  declares  stoutly  in 
favour  of  the  movement.  Lady  Baker,  whom  every 
one  seems  tacitly  to  suspect  as  a  dissentient,  has 
no  objection,  provided  her  glass  is  once  more  filled 
with  champagne.  She  even  hazards  an  opinion 
that  it  will  keep  off  the  flies.  Miss  Tregunter  would 
like  to  smoke,  too,  only  she  knows  it  would  make 
her  head  ache,  and  fears  it  might  have  results  even 
more  unpleasant  than  pain.  By  the  time  the  cigars 
are  well  under  way,  silence  seems  to  have  settled 
once  more  upon  the  party,  but  it  is  the  silence  of 
repose  and  contentment,  rather  than  of  shyness  and 
constraint. 

Miss  Welby,  awaking  from  a  profound  fit  of  ab- 
straction, asks  in  a  tone  of  injured  feeling,  ''  WTiy 
does  nobody  sing  a  song  ?  " 


192  THE  WHITE  ROSE. 

"  Why,  indeed  ?  "  says  Yandeleur.  ''  If  I  had 
ever  done  such  a  thing  in  my  life,  I  would  now. 
Miss  Tregunter,  I  know  you  can  pipe  more  sweetly 
than  the  nightingale — won't  you  strike  up  ?  " 

"  No,  I  won't  strike  up,  as  you  call  it,"  answered 
Miss  Tregunter,  laughing  ;  "  my  poor  little  pipe 
would  be  lost  in  this  wilderness.  Nothing  but  a 
man's  voice  will  go  down  in  the  open  air.  Mr. 
Burton,  I  call  upon  you  to  begin." 

But  the  Dandy  could  not  sing  without  his  music, 
nor,  indeed,  was  he  a  very  efficient  performer  at 
any  time,  although  he  could  get  through  one  or 
two  pieces  creditably  enough  in  a  room,  with 
somebody  who  understood  his  voice  to  play  the 
accompaniment,  and  everything  else  in  his  favour. 
He  excused  himself,  therefore,  looking  imploringly 
at  Dolly  the  while. 

Miss  Tregunter  followed  his  glance.  "You'll 
sing,  I'm  sure,  Mr.  Egremont,"  she  said,  rather 
affectionately.  ''I  know  you  can,  for  everybody 
says  so  ;  and  it  seems  so  odd  that  I  should  never 
have  heard  you !  " 

Dolly,  like  all  stout  men,  had  a  voice.  Like  all 
stout  men,  too,  he  was  thoroughly  good-natured; 
so  he  would  probably  have  complied  at  any  rate, 


''THE  WHITE  WITCH."  193 

but  there  was  no  resisting  such,  an  appeal,  from 
such  a  quarter.  He  looked  admiringly  in  the  young 
kdy's  face. 

"  Willingly/'  said  he.     "  What  shall  I  sing  ?  " 

"  '  Eule  Britannia/  "  observed  Norah,  listlessly, 
and  with  a  curl  of  her  lip,  sufficiently  ungrateful  to 
the  willing  performer. 

"  ]N"o,  no  !  "  protested  Miss  Tregunter.  "  How 
can  you,  dear  ?  " 

"  Well,  '  God  save  the  Queen,'  then,"  suggested 
Miss  Welby,  who  was  obviously  not  in  a  good 
humour. 

"  That  always  comes  at  the  finish,"  said  Burton. 
"  Don't  be  sat  upon,  Dolly.  Put  your  other  pipe 
out,  and  sing  us  the  '  White  Witch.'  " 

"Why  the  'White  Witch?'  "  asked  Yandeleur. 
*'  It  sounds  a  queer  name.     What  does  it  mean  ?  " 

"  It  don't  mean  anything,"  answered  Dolly.  "  It's 
a  song  Gerard  brought  down  from  London  before 
he  went  away.  He  was  always  humming  it — very 
much  out  of  tune.  He  said  it  reminded  him  of 
somebody  he  knew.  Very  likely  his  grand- 
mother ! " 

Norah  Welby  blushed  scarlet,  and  then  turned 
pale.      Nobody  observed  her  but  Yandeleur ;    and 

VOL.  I.  0 


194  THE  WHITE  nOSE. 

his  own  brow  darkened  a  good  deal.  *'  Let  us  have 
it  by  all  means  \  "  he  said,  with  admirable  self- 
command,  at  the  same  time  stretching  forward  to 
fill  his  glass,  and  thus  screening  Miss  Welby  from 
observation. 

Dolly  now  struck  up  in  a  full  mellow  voice — 

"  Have  a  care  !     She  is  fair, 

The  White  Witch  there, 
In  her  crystal  cave,  up  a  jewelled  stair. 
She  has  spells  for  the  living  would  waken  the  dead, 
And  they  lurk  in  the  line  of  her  lip  so  red, 
And  they  lurk  in  the  turn  of  her  delicate  head, 

And  the  golden  gleam  on  her  hair. 

*'  Forbear  !  Have  a  care 

Of  her  beauty  so  rare. 
Of  the  pale  proud  face,  and  the  queen-like  air, 
And  the  love-lighted  glances  that  deepen  and  shine. 
And  the  coil  of  bright  tresses  that  ghsten  and  twine, 
And  the  whispers  that  madden — like  kisses,  or  wine. 

Too  late  !  Too  late  to  beware. 

' '  Never  heed  !  Never  spare  ! 
Never  fear  I  Never  care  I 
It  is  better  to  love,  it  is  bolder  to  dare. 
Lonely  and  longing  and  looking  for  you, 
She  has  woven  the  meshes  you  cannot  break  through, 
She  has  taken  your  heart,  you  may  follow  it  too. 

Up  the  jewelled  stair,  good  luck  to  you  there  I 
In  the  crystal  cave,  with  the  witch  so  fair. 
The  White  Witch  fond  and  fair." 

*'  A  bad  imitation  of  Tennyson,'^  remarked  Yande- 


195 

leur.  "  But  well  sung,  Mr.  Egremont,  for  all  that. 
I  am  sure  we  are  very  mucti  obliged  to  you." 

"  I  know  I  am/'  said  Miss  Tregunter ;  at  which 
Dolly  looked  extremely  gratified.  *'I  am  glad  I 
have  heard  you  sing,  and  I  should  like  to  hear 
you  again." 

"It's  certainly  pretty!"  affirmed  Lady  Baker, 
drowsily.     "  ^^Tiat  is  it  all  about  ?  "  • 

Norah's  eyes  looked  veiy  deep  and  dark,  shining 
out  of  her  pale  face.  "  I  should  like  to  have  that 
song,"  said  she,  in  a  low  voice.  ''Mr.  Egremont, 
will  you  copy  it  out,  and  send  it  me  ?  " 

Yandeleur  flimg  the  end  of  his  cigar  away  with 
a  gesture  of  impatience,  even  of  irritation.  ''  Poor 
Ainslie !  "  said  he,  in  a  marked  tone ;  ''I  wish  he 
hadn't  left  Archer's  quite  so  soon." 

''  Have  you  heard  anything  of  him?  "  asked  Dolly, 
eagerly.  ''  The  place  hasn't  been  the  same  since 
he  went  away.  A  better  chap  never  stepped  than 
Ainslie.     I'm  sure  I  wish  he  was  back  again." 

Alas,  that  on  this  young  gentleman's  preoccupied 
heart  the  kindly  glance  that  jS'orah  now  vouch- 
safed him  should  have  been  so  completely  thrown 
away  ! 

"  I've   heard   no   good  of  him,"  answered  Yan- 


196  THE  WHITE  ROSE. 

deleur,  gravely.  "  Young  fellows  are  all  wild ;  and 
I'm  the  last  man  to  object,  but  our  friend  bas  been 
doing  tbe  thing  a  little  too  unscrupulously,  and  I, 
for  one,  am  very  sorry  for  it." 

"He  always  wanted  knowledge  of  the  world," 
observed  Burton,  in  a  tone  of  considerable  self- 
satisfaction.  "  I  knew  be  would  come  to  grief,  if 
tbey  let  bim  run  alone  too  soon." 

"I'll  swear  he's  never  done  anything  really  wrong 
or  dishonourable !  "  protested  Doll}^,  in  a  great 
heat  and  fuss,  which  surrounded  him  as  with  a 
glory  in  the  eyes  of  Miss  Welby.  "  I  believe  Geraiid 
Ainslie  to  be  the  most  perfect  gentleman  in  the 
world!" 

"  I  believe  you  to  be  the  most  perfectly  good- 
natured  fellow  I  know,"  answered  Yandeleur,  laugh- 
ing. "  Come,  it's  cooler  now,  shall  we  take  a  stroll 
in  the  Park  ?  By-the-bye,  Miss  Welby,  I  haven't 
forgotten  my  promise  to  show  you  the  Rock  House." 

Miss  Welby's  proud  pale  face  grew  prouder  and 
paler  as  she  bowed  assent,  and  w^alked  off  with 
her  host  in  the  direction  indicated.  Vexed,  wounded, 
and  justly  irritated,  she  could  not  yet  resist  the 
temptation  of  trying  to  learn  something  definite 
concerning  Gerard  Ainslie. 


CHAPTEE  XYI. 


PIOUS   ^NEAS. 


*'I'm  bored  about  a  friend  of  ours,  Miss  Welby/' 
observed  Yandeleur,  preceding  bis  guest  along  a 
narrow  patb  tbrougb  tbe  fern,  out  of  bearing  by 
tbe  otber,  and  careful  not  to  look  back  in  ber  face. 
"  Tbis  way,  and  mind  tbose  brambles  don't  catcb  in 
your  pretty  dress.  It  isn't  often  I  allow  anytbing 
to  vex  me,  but  I  am  vexed  witb  young  iVinslie.  I 
tbougbt  bim  sucb  a  nice,  straigbtforward,  well- 
disposed  boy ;  and  above  all,  a  tborougb  gentleman. 
It  only  sbows  bow  one  can  be  deceived." 

Sbe  felt  ber  cbeek  turn  wbite  and  ber  beart 
stand  still,  but  ber  courage  rose  at  tbe  implied 
imputation,  and  sbe  answered  boldly :  ''  Wbatcver 
may  be  Mr.  Ainslie's  faults,  be  is  tbe  last  person  in 
tbe  world  I  sbould  suspect  of  anytbing  false  or  un- 
gentlcmanlike." 


198  THE  WHITE  ROSE. 

''  Exactly  what  I  have  said  all  along,"  assented 
Yandeleur ;  "  and  even  now  I  can  scarcely  brmg 
myself  to  believe  in  the  mischief  I  hear  about  him, 
though  I  grieve  to  say  I  have  my  information  from 
the  best  authority." 

She  stopped  short,  and  he  turned  to  look  at  her. 
Yandeleur  had  often  admired  a  certain  dignity  and 
even  haughtiness  of  bearing  which  was  natural  to 
^orah.  He  had  never  seen  her  look  so  queen-like 
and  defiant  as  now. 

"  Why  don't  you  speak  out,  Mr.  Yandeleur  ?  " 
she  said,  somewhat  contemptuously ;  ^'  I  am  not 
ashamed  to  own  that  I  do  take  an  interest  in  Mr. 
Ainslie.  It  would  be  strange  if  I  did  not,  consi- 
dering that  he  is  a  great  friend  of  papa's,  as  well  as 
mine.  If  you  know  anything  about  him,  why  don't 
you  proclaim  it  at  once  ?  " 

He  dropped  his  voice  and  came  closer  to  her  side. 
"  Shall  I  tell  you  why  I  don't?"  said  he,  tenderly. 
''  Because  I'm  soft ;  because  I'm  stupid  ;  because 
I'm  an  old  fool.  Miss  Welby,  I  would  rather  cut 
my  right  hand  off  than  give  j'ou  a  moment's  pain  ; 
and  I  know  your  heart  is  so  kind  and  good  that  it 
would  pain  you  to  hear  what  I  have  learned  about 
Gerard  Ainslie." 


PIOUS   .ENEAS.  199 

''You  have  no  right  to  say  sol  "  slie  burst  out, 
yehemently,  but  checked  herself  on  the  instant.  "I 
mean  you  cannot  suppose  that  it  woukl  pain  me 
more  than  any  of  his  other  friends  to  hear  that 
he  was  doing  badly.  Of  course,  I  should  be  very 
sorry,"  she  added,  trying  to  control  her  voice,  which 
shook  proYokingly.  ''Oh,  Mr.  Yandeleur  !  after  all 
he's  very  young,  and  he's  got  nobody  to  advise  him. 
Can't  you  help  him  ?  Can't  you  do  something  ? 
"What  is  the  matter  ?  What  has  he  really  been 
about  P  " 

"I  scarcely  know  how  to  tell  you,"  he  answered, 
shaking  his  head  with  an  admirable  assumption  of 
consideration  and  forbearance.  "  There  are  certain 
scrapes  out  of  which  a  young  fellow  may  be  pulled, 
however  deeply  he  is  immersed,  if  he  will  only  take 
advice.  I've  been  in  hundreds  of  them  myself. 
But  this  is  a  different  business  altogether.  I've 
gone  through  the  whole  thing,  Miss  Welby. 
Heaven  forbid  you  should  ever  learn  one-tenth 
of  the  sorrows  and  the  troubles  and  the  evils  that 
beset  a  man's  entrance  on  lifel  I  have  bought 
my  experience  dearly  enough  ; — with  money,  with 
anxiety,  with  years  of  penitence  and  remorse. 
People    will    tell    you   that    John    Yandeleur   has 


200  THE  WHITE  ROSE. 

done  everything,  and  been  through  everything, 
and  got  tired  of  ever}i;hing.  People  will  tell  you 
a  great  deal  about  John  Yandeleur  that  isn't  true. 
Sometimes  I  wish  it  was !  Sometimes  I  wish  I 
could  be  the  hard,  heartless,  impenetrable  old 
reprobate  they  make  me  out.  However,  that's  got 
nothing  to  do  with  it.  All  I  say  is,  that  even 
with  my  experience  of  evil  I  don't  know  what  to 
advise." 

"  Is  it  money  ? "  she  asked ;  but  her  very  lips 
were  white,  and  her  voice  sank  to  a  whisper. 

"  Far  worse  than  that  I  "  he  exclaimed.  "  If  it 
had  been  only  an  affair  of  extravagance,  it  would 
never  have  come  to  your  ears,  you  may  be  sure  ! 
After  all,  I  like  the  lad  immensely,  and  I  would 
have  persuaded  him  to  allow  me  to  arrange  any- 
thing of  that  kind  in  ten  minutes.  Xo,  Miss 
"Welby,  it  is  not  money;  and  not  being  money, 
can  you  guess  what  it  is  ?  " 

Of  course  she  could  guess !  Of  course  she  had 
guessed  long  ago !  Of  course  the  jealousy  insepa- 
rable from  love  had  given  her  many  a  painful 
twinge  during  the  last  half  hour  ;  and  equally,  of 
course,  she  affected  innocence,  ignorance,  profound 
indifference,  and  answered  never  a  word. 


PIOUS  ^NEAS.  201 

He  looked  designedly  away,  and  slie  was  grate- 
ful for  his  forbearance.  "  Not  being  money,"  he 
continued,  ''  we  all  know  it  must  be  love.  And  yet 
I  cannot  call  this  unaccountable,  this  incompre- 
hensible infatuation,  by  so  exalted  a  name.  I 
tell  you  the  whole  thing  beats  me  from  beginning 
to  end.  Here  was  a  young  man  with  every  advan- 
tage of  education  and  standing  and  society,  thrown 
amongst  the  nicest  people  in  the  neighbourhood, 
visiting  at  several  of  our  houses,  and  popular  with 
us  all ; — a  young  man  who,  if  he  was  like  young 
men  in  general,  ought  to  have  been  doubly  and 
triply  guarded  against  anything  in  the  shape  of 
folly  or  vice ;  who  should  have  been  under  an 
influence  the  most  likely  to  keep  him  pure,  stain- 
less, and  unselfish ;  an  influence  that  preserves 
almost  all  others,  even  old  sinners  like  myself, 
from  the  very  inclination  to  evil.  And  on  the 
threshold  of  life  he  casts  away  every  advantage; 
he  sets  propriety  at  defiance ;  he  outrages  the 
common    decencies  of  the  world,   and  he  hampers 

himself  with Miss  Welby,  I  ought  not  to  go 

on — I  ought  never  to  have  begun.  This  is  a  subject 
on  which  it  is  hardly  fit  for  you  and  me  to  converse. 
See  how  well  the  house  comes  in  from  here ;  and 


202  THE   AVHITE  ROSE. 

give  me  your  advice  about  taking  out  tliat  dwarfed 
oak  ;  it  hides  more  than  half  the  conservatory." 

She  could  see  neither  dwarfed  oak  nor  conser- 
vatory, for  her  eyes  were  beginning  to  cloud  with 
tears,  bravely  and  fiercely  kept  back.  But  she  had 
not  reached  the  ordeal  thus  designedly'  to  shrink 
from  it  at  last ;  and  though  she  spoke  very  fast, 
every  syllable  was  clear  and  distinct  while  she  urged 
him  to  proceed. 

"  Tell  me  the  whole  truth,  Mr.  Yandeleur,  and 
nothing  but  the  truth.  I  have  a  right  to  ask  you. 
I  have  a  right  to  know  everything." 

So  pale,  so  resolute,  and  so  delicately  beautiful ! 
For  a  moment  his  heart  smote  him  hard.  For  a 
moment  he  could  have  spared  her,  and  loved  her 
well  enough  to  make  her  happy,  but  even  in  his 
admiration  his  lower  nature,  never  kept  down  for 
years,  gained  the  mastery,  and  he  resolved  that  for 
her  very  perfection  she  must  be  his  own.  Again  he 
turned  his  head  away  and  walked  on  in  front. 

"  I  will  tell  you  the  truth,"  he  said,  with  a  world 
of  sympathy  and  kindness  in  his  voice.  "  Ainslie 
has  been  worse  than  foolish.  He  has  been  utterly 
dishonourable  and  unprincipled.  He  has  taken  a 
voung  girl  of  this  neighbourhood  away  from  her 


PIOUS  ^NEAS.  203 

liome.  They  are  together  at  this  moment.  You 
know  her,  Miss  Welby.  She  is  old  Draper's 
daughter,  at  Eipley  Mill.  Come  into  the  Rock 
House,  and  sit  do^ii.  Is  it  not  deKghtfully  cool  ? 
Wait  here  half  a  minute,  and  I  will  bring  you  the 
purest  water  you  ever  tasted,  from  the  spring  at  the 
foot  of  those  steps." 

He  was  out  of  sight  almost  while  he  spoke,  and 
she  leaned  her  head  against  the  cold  slab  which 
formed  part  of  the  grotto  they  had  entered,  feeling 
grateful  for  the  physical  comfort  it  afforded  to  sink 
into  a  seat  and  rest  her  aching  temples  even  on  a 
stone. 

It  was  over  then — all  over  now  !  Just  as  she  sus- 
pected throughout,  and  she  had  been  right  after  all. 
Then  came  the  dull  sense  of  relief  that  in  its  hope- 
lessness is  so  much  worse  to  bear  than  pain  ;  and 
she  could  tell  herself  that  she  had  become  resigned, 
careless,  stupefied,  and  hard  as  the  rock  against 
which  she  leaned  her  head.  ^Yhen  Yandeleur  came 
back,  she  looked  perfectly  tranquil  and  composed. 
Impenetrable,  perhaps,  and  haughtier  than  he  had 
ever  seen  her,  but  for  all  that  so  calm  and  self- 
possessed  that  she  deceived  even  him.  "  She  can- 
not   have     cared    so     much,     after     all,"    thought 


204  THE  WHITE  ROSE. 

Yandeleur;  "and  there  is  a  good  cliance  for  me 
8tm." 

He  offered  her  some  water,  and  she  noticed  the 
quaint  fashion  of  the  silver  cup  in  his  hand. 

"  What  a  dear  old  goblet,"  she  said,  spelling  out 
the  device  that  girdled  it  in  ancient  characters, 
almost  illegible.  "  Do  you  mean  to  say  you  leave  it 
littering  about  here  ? '' 

He  smiled  meaningly.  *'  I  sent  it  up  on  purpose 
for  you  to  drink  from.  There  is  a  story  about  the 
goblet,  and  a  story  about  the  Rock  House.  Can  you 
make  out  the  motto  ?  " 

''Well,  it's  not  very  plain,"  she  answered  ;  "but 
give  me  a  little  time.     Yes.     I  have  it — 

'  Spare  youth, 
Have  ruth, 
Tell  truth.' 

It  sounds  like  nonsense.     '\Vliat  does  it  mean  ?  " 
"It's  a  love    story,"    replied  Yandeleur,    sitting 

down  by  her  side,  "  and  it's  about  my  grandmother. 

ShaUIteUityou?" 

She   laughed    bitterly.      "  A    love-story !      That 

must  be  ludicrous.     And  about  your  grandmamma, 

Mr.    Yandeleur !      I    suppose,    then,    it's   perfectly 

proper.     Yes.     You  may  go  on." 


PIOUS  ^NEAS.  205 

"  She  wasn't  my  grandmotlier  then,'*  said  Yan- 
deleur  ;  "  on  the  contrary,  she  had  not  long  been 
my  grandfather's  wife.  She  was  a  good  deal  younger 
than  her  husband.  Miss  Welby,  do  you  think  a 
girl  could  care  for  a  man  twenty  years  older  than 
herself?" 

She  was  thinking  of  her  false  love.  "Why  not," 
she  asked,  "  if  he  was  staunch  and  true  ?  " 

Yandeleur  looked  pleased,  and  went  on  with  his 
story: — 

"My  grandfather  loved  his  young  bride  very 
dearly.  It  does  not  follow  because  there  are  lines  on 
the  forehead  and  silver  streaks  in  the  beard  that 
the  heart  should  have  outlived  its  sjTupathies,  its 
affections,  its  capability  of  self-sacrifice  and  self- 
devotion.  It  sounds  ridiculous,  I  dare  say,  for 
people  to  talk  about  love  when  they  are  past  forty, 
but  you  young  ladies  little  know,  Miss  Welby ;  you 
little  know.  However,  my  grandfather,  as  old  a 
man  as  I  am  now,  worshipped  the  very  ground  his 
young  wife  trod  on,  and  loved  her  no  less  pas- 
sionately, and  perhaps  more  faithfully,  than  if  he 
had  been  five-and-twenty.  She  was  proud  of  his 
devotion,  and  she  admired  his  character,  or  she 
would   not   probably  have   married   him ;    but   her 


20G  THE  WHITE  ROSE. 

heart  tad.  been  touclied  by  a  young  cousin  in  tbe 
neigbbourboocl, — only  scratched,  I  think,  not 
wounded  to  hurt,  you  know, — and  whatever  she 
indulged  in  of  romance  and  sentiment,  was  asso- 
ciated with  this  boy's  curl}'  locks,  smooth  face, 
and  frivolous,  empty  character.  There  is  a  charm 
in  youth.  Miss  Welby,  I  fear,  for  which  truth, 
honour,  station,  and  the  purest  affection  are  no 
equivalents." 

She  sighed,  and  shook  her  head.  Yandeleur  pro- 
ceeded : — 

"  My  grandfather  felt  he  was  not  appreciated  as 
he  deserved,  and  it  cut  him  to  the  heart.  But  he 
neither  endeavoured  to  force  his  wife's  inclinations 
nor  watched  her  actions.  One  day,  however,  taking 
shelter  from  a  shower  under  that  yew-tree,  he  heard 
his  wife  and  her  cousin,  who  had  been  driven  to  the 
same  refuge,  conversing  on  the  other  side.  He  was 
obliged  to  listen,  though  every  word  spoken  stabbed 
him  like  a  knife.  It  was  evident  a  strong  flirtation 
existed  between  them.  Nothing  worse,  I  am  bound 
to  believe  ;  for  in  whose  propriety  shall  a  man  have 
confidence,  if  not  in  his  grandmother's  ?  Never- 
theless, the  hidden  husband  heard  his  wife  tax  her 
cousin   with   deceiving  her,    and    the    young   man 


PIOUS   ^NEAS.  207 

excused  himself  on  the  grounds  of  his  false  position 
as  a  lover  without  hope.  This  was  so  far  satisfactory^ 
^  And  if  your  husband  asked  you  whether  you  had 
seen  me  to-day,  what  should  you  answer  ? '  demanded 
the  cousin.  '  I  should  tell  him  the  truth/  replied 
]ny  grandmother.  This  was  better  still.  The  next 
communication  was  not  quite  so  pleasant  for  the 
listener.  His  wife  complained  bitterly  of  the  want 
of  shelter  in  this,  the  only  spot,  she  said,  where  they 
could  meet  without  interruption  ;  in  rain,  she  pro- 
tested, they  must  get  drenched  to  the  skin,  and  in 
hot  weather  there  was  not  even  a  cup  to  drink 
out  of  from  the  spring.  The  cousin,  on  the  other 
hand,  regretted  loudly  that  his  debts  would  drive 
him  from  the  country',  that  he  must  start  in  less 
than  a  week,  and  that  if  he  had  but  two  hundred 
pounds  he  would  be  the  happiest  man  in  the  world. 
Altogether  it  was  obvious  that  the  spirits  of  this 
interesting  couple  fell  rapidly  with  their  pros- 
pects. 

''  The  rain  fell  too,  but  my  grandfather  was  one  of 
the  first  gentlemen  of  his  day,  and  notwithstanding 
the  ducking  he  got,  walked  away  through  the 
heaviest  of  it,  rather  than  remain  for  their  leave- 
taking.     We  are  a  wild  race,  we  Yandeleurs,  but 


208  THE  WHITE  KOSE. 

there  is  some  little  good  in  us  if  you  can  only  get 
at  it." 

"  I  am  sure  there  is,"  said  she  absently ;  "  and, 
at  least,  you  have  none  of  you  ever  failed  in  loyalty." 

"  Thank  you.  Miss  Welby,"  said  Yandeleur,  now 
radiant.  '"Loyal  je  serais  clurant  ma  vie  ! '  Well,  if 
you  can  stand  any  more  about  my  grandmother,  I 
will  tell  you  exactly  what  happened.  It  rained  for 
three  days  without  intermission — it  sometimes  does 
in  this  coimtry.  During  that  period  an  unknown 
hand  paid  the  cousin's  debts,  enabling  him  to 
remain  at  home  as  long  as  he  thought  proper  ;  and 
on  the  fourth  morning,  when  the  sun  shone,  my 
grandmother,  taking  her  usual  walk  to  the  spring, 
found  not  only  her  cousin  at  the  accustomed  spot, 
but  this  Rock  House  erected  to  shelter  her,  and  that 
silver  cup  ready  to  drink  from,  encircled,  as  you  see 
it,  with  the  motto  you  have  just  read.  All  these 
little  matters  were  delicate  attentions  from  a  hus- 
band twenty  years  older  than  herself !  " 

"  He  must  have  been  a  dear  old  thing  !  "  exclaimed 
Norah,  vehemently.  "  Wasn't  she  delighted  ?  And 
didn't  she  grow  awfully  fond  of  him  after  all  ?  " 

*'  I  don't  know,"  answered  Yandeleur  very  gravely, 
and  in  a  low  voice  that   trembled  a  little.     "  But 


PIOUS  ^NEAS.  209 

I  am  sure  if  she  did  not,  he  was  a  miserable  man  for 
his  whole  life.  It  is  hard  to  give  gold  for  silver, 
as  many  of  us  do  ungrudgingly  and  by  handfuls  ; 
but  it  is  harder  still  to  offer  hopes,  happiness — 
past,  present,  future — your  existence,  your  very  soul, 
and  find  it  all  in  vain,  because  the  only  woman  on 
earth  for  you  has  wasted  her  priceless  heart  on  an 
object  she  knows  to  be  unworthy.  She  gives  her 
gold  for  silver — nay,  for  copper ;  and  your  dia- 
monds she  scorns  as  dross.  !N^ever  mind !  riins: 
them  down  before  her  just  the  same  !  Better  that 
they  should  be  trodden  under  foot  by  her,  than  set 
in  a  coronet  for  the  brows  of  another  !  Miss  Welby 
— Xorah  !  that  is  what  I  call  love  !  An  old  man's 
love,  and  therefore  to  be  ridiculed  and  despised  !  " 

She  had  shrunk  away  now,  startled,  scared  by  his 
vehemence  ;  but  he  took  her  hand,  and  continued 
very  gently,  while  he  drew  her  imperceptibly  to- 
wards him — 

"  Forgive  me,  IMiss  Welby — Xorah  !  May  I  not 
call  you  Xorah  ?  I  have  been  hurried  into  a.  confes- 
sion that  I  had  resolved  not  to  make  for  months — 
nay,  for  years — perhaps  not  till  too  late  even  for 
the  chance  of  reaping  anything  from  my  temerity. 
But    it  cannot    be   unsaid   now.      Listen.      I  have 

VOL.    I.  V 


210  THE  WHITE   ROSE. 

loved  you  very  dearly  for  long ;  so  dearly  that  I 
could  even  have  yielded  up  my  hopes  without  a 
murmur,  had  I  known  your  affections  gained  by 
one  really  worthy  of  you,  and  could  have  been  con- 
tent with  my  own  loneliness  to  see  my  idol  happy. 
Yes,  I  love  you  madly.  Do  not  draw  away  from 
me.  I  will  never  persecute  you.  I  do  not  care 
what  becomes  of  me  if  I  can  only  be  sure  that  you 
are  contented.  Miss  Welby  !  I  offer  all,  and  I  ask 
for  so  little  in  return  !  Only  let  me  watch  over 
your  welfare,  only  let  me  contribute  to  your  hap- 
piness ;  and  if  you  can  permit  me  to  hope,  say  so  ; 
if  not,  what  does  it  matter  ?  I  shall  always  love 
you,  and  belong  to  you — ^like  some  savage  old  dog, 
who  only  acknowledges  one  owner — and  you  may 
kick  me,  or  caress  me,  as  you  please." 

She  was  flattered — ^how  could  she  be  otherwise  ? 
And  it  was  a  salve  to  her  sore  suffering  heart  to 
have  won  so  entirely  the  love  of  such  a  man — of 
this  distinguished,  well-known,  experienced  Mr. 
Yandeleur.  As  a  triumph  to  her  pride,  no  doubt 
such  a  conquest  was  worth  a  whole  college  of 
juveniles  ;  and  yet,  soothed  pique,  gratified  vanity, 
budding  ambition — all  these  are  not  love,  nor  are 
they  equivalents  for  love. 


PIOUS  ^NEAS.  211 

Slie  knew  it  even  at  this  moment ;  but  it  would 
have  been  heartless,  she  thought — ungrateful,  un- 
feeling— to  speak  harshly  to  him  now.  She  drew 
her  hand  away ;  but  she  answered  in  a  low  and 
rather  tender  voice,  with  a  smile  that  did  not  in 
the  least  conceal  her  agitation — 

''  You  are  very  noble  and  very  generous.  I  could 
not  have  the  heart  to  Jdck  you,  I  am  sure  !  " 

"  And  I  may  hope  ?  "  he  exclaimed,  exultingly. 
But  her  face  was  now  hidden,  and  she  was  crying  in 
silence. 

He  was  eager  for  an  answer.  He  had  played 
the  game  so  well,  he  might  consider  it  fairly  won. 

''  One  word,  Miss  Welby — jN^orah,  my  darling 
Norah  I  I  will  wait  any  time  — I  will  endure  any 
trial — only  tell  me  that  it  will  come  at  last  !  " 

"  Not  yet,"  she  whispered — "  not  yet ! " 

And  with  this  answer  he  was  fain  to  content 
himself,  for  no  farther  syllable  did  Miss  "Welby 
utter  the  whole  way  down  the  hill,  the  whole  way 
across  the  deer-park,  the  whole  way  along  the  half- 
mile  avenue  to  the  house.  They  reached  it  like 
strangers,  they  entered  it  at  different  doors,  they 
mixed  with  the  various  guests  as  if  they  had  not 
a  thought  nor  an  interest  in  common  ;  yet  none  the 


212  THE  WHITE  ROSE. 

less  did  Xorali  Welby  feel  that,  somehow  against 
lier  will,  she  was  fastened  by  a  long  and  heavy  chain, 
and  that  the  other  end  was  held  by  John  Yandeleur, 
Esq.,  of  Oakover. 


CHAPTER  XYII. 


THE    GIRLS    WE    LEAVE    BEHIND    VS. 


Mr.  Bruff  never  sees  his  fellow-lodger  now.  If 
his  enthusiasm  for  the  profession  impels  him  to 
impromptu  rehearsals,  they  must  be  dependent  on 
the  good-nature  of  old  mother  Briggs,  or  the 
leisure  moments,  not  easily  arrested,  of  the  hard- 
worked  H'Ann !  He  is  little  impressed  by  female 
charms ;  for  although,  like  actors  in  general,  he 
looks  of  no  particular  age,  and  might  be  anything 
between  thirty  and  sixty,  Mr.  Bruff  has  acquired 
that  toughness  of  cuticle,  both  without  and  within, 
which  defends  the  most  sensitive  of  us  after  our 
fiftieth  birthday ;  and  impassioned  as  he  may  appear 
in  the  character  of  a  stage  lover,  to  use  his  own 
expression,  he  is  "  adamant,  sir,  adamant  to  the 
backbone !  "  in  private  life.      Nevertheless,  he  con- 


214  THE  WHITE  ROSE. 

siders  tlie  young  lady  lie  has  been  in  the  habit 
of  meeting  on  the  stairs  "  a  very  interesting  party  ;'* 
and  presiding  as  be  does  to-nigbt  at  a  late  supper, 
dramatic  and  convivial — the  forerunner  of  speedy 
departure  to  another  provincial  theatre — he  finds 
himself  thinking  more  than  once  of  Fanny  Draper's 
well-shaped  figure,  mobile  features,  bright  eyes,  and 
pleasant  saucy  smile.  He  wonders  who  she  is,  and 
what  she  is.  He  wonders,  with  her  natural  powers 
of  mimicry,  with  her  flexibiKty  of  voice  and  facility 
of  expression,  with  her  advantages  of  apj)earance 
and  manner,  why  she  does  not  take  to  the  profession, 
and  appear  at  once  upon  the  stage.  He  wonders 
(in  the  interval  between  a  facetious  toast  and  a  comic 
song)  whether  her  residence  in  this  dull  provincial 
town  is  not  intimately  connected  with  the  presence 
of  that  young  officer  in  whose  accident  she  took  such 
obvious  interest ;  whether  it  is  a  case  of  thrilling 
romance,  fit  subject  for  a  stock-piece,  or  of  mere 
vulgar  intrigue.  He  wonders  why  she  has  been 
absent  from  the  theatre  ;  why  she  has  returned  him 
the  orders  he  sent  her  this  very  afternoon ;  why  he 
has  not  met  her  in  the  street  or  on  the  stairs ;  and 
while  he  empties  his  glass  and  clears  his  voice  for 
the  comic  song,  he  wonders  what  she  is  doing  now. 


THE   GmLS    WE  LEAVE  BEHIND  US.  215 

Fanny  Draper  is  dreaming — dreaming  broad 
awake — buried  in  a  deep,  bigb-backed,  wbite- 
covered  anncbair,  witb  ber  eyes  fixed  on  tbe 
glowing  coals  of  a  fire  tbat  sbe  makes  up  from  time 
to  time  witb  noiseless  dexterity,  stealing  anxious 
glances  tbe  wbile  towards  tbe  close-drawn  curtains 
of  a  large  old-fasbioned  bed.  It  is  long  past 
midnigbt.  I^ot  a  sound  is  beard  outside  in  tbe 
deserted  street,  not  a  sound  in  tbe  sick  cbamber, 
but  tbe  measured  ticking  of  a  watcb  on  tbe  cbimney- 
piecc.  Tbrougbout  tbe  room  tbere  is  every  appear- 
ance of  dangerous  illness  combated  witb  all  tbe 
appliances  of  medical  skill  and  afi'ectionate  atten- 
tion. Tbere  are  towels  baking  on  a  screen  witbin 
reacb  of  tbe  fire- glow ;  layers  of  lint  lie  neatly 
packed  and  folded  on  squares  of  oil- skin ;  long 
bandages,  dexterously  rolled,  and  tied,  wait  only  to 
be  uncoiled  witb  a  toucb ;  two  or  tbree  pbials, 
marked  in  graduated  scale,  stand  on  tbe  dressing- 
table  ;  a  kettlcful  of  water  is  ready  to  be  placed 
on  tbe  bob ;  and  in  a  far-ofi"  corner,  escaping  from 
tbe  lowest  drawer  of  tbe  wardrobe,  peeps  out  a 
tell-tale  clotb  stained  and  saturated  witb  blood. 

In  tbat  close- curtained  bed  lies  Gerard  Ainslie 
liovering   between   life  and  deatb.      He  bas  never 


216  THE  WHITE   ROSE. 

spoken  since  they  lifted  him  from  under  his  horse 
on  the  race-course,  and  brought  him  home  to  his 
lodgings,  a  crushed,  mutilated  form,  scarcely  breath- 
ing, and  devoid  of  sight  or  sense.  Mrs.  Briggs 
opines  it  is  ''  all  over  with  him,  poor  young  man ! 
though  while  there's  life  there's  hope  o'  coorse !  " 
and  H'Ann  has  been  in  a  chronic  state  of  smuts 
and  tears  since  the  day  of  the  accident.  But  Fanny 
constituted  herself  sick-nurse  at  once,  and  the  doctor 
has  told  her  that  if  the  patient  recovers  it  will  be 
less  owing  to  surgical  skill  than  to  her  affectionate 
care  and  self-devotion.  He  had  better  have  held 
his  tongue.  Poor  girl !  she  never  broke  down  till 
then,  but  she  went  and  cried  in  her  own  room  for 
forty  minutes  after  this  outburst  of  professional 
approval. 

If  he  recovers  !  Fanny  has  only  lately  learnt  how 
much  that  little  word  means  to  her, — how  entirely 
her  own  welfare  dejDends  on  the  life  of  this  hapless 
young  gentleman,  whom  she  once  considered  fair 
game  for  the  enterprise  of  a  coquette,  whom  she 
has  been  paid  (how  she  winces  with  shame  and  pain 
at  the  remembrance  !) — yes,  paid  to  captivate  and 
allure  !  It  was  a  dangerous  game  ;  it  was  j)la3'ed 
with  edged  tools  ;  and  not  till  too  late  for  salve  or 


THE   GIKLS  WE  LEAVE  BEHIND  US.  217 

plaster  did.  the  miller's  daughter  find  out  that  she 
had  cut  her  own  fingers  to  the  bone.  IS'ow  all  she 
prizes  and  loves  in  the  world  lies  senseless  there 
within  those  close- dra-^Ti  curtains ;  and  her  -^^dlful 
heart  has  ceased  beating  more  than  once  when, 
listening  for  the  only  sign  of  life  the  sufierer  dis- 
played, she  fancied  his  breathing  had  stopped,  and 
all  was  oyer. 

To-day,  howeyer,  there  seemed  to  be  a  slight  im- 
proyement,  though  imperceptible,  saye  to  the  eye  of 
science.  The  doctor's  face  (and  be  sure  it  was  eagerly 
watched)  had  looked  a  shade  less  solemn,  a  thought 
more  anxious.  He  was  coming  earlier,  too,  than 
usual  on  the  morrow.  And  had  he  not  said  once 
before  that  any  change  would  be  for  the  better  ? 
Surely  it  is  a  good  omen.  For  the  first  time  since 
she  has  taken  possession  of  that  deep  armchair  by 
the  fire  in  the  sick  chamber,  Fanny  sufiers  her 
thoughts  to  wander,  and  her  spirit  to  lose  itself  in 
dreams. 

She  reviews  her  life  since  she  has  been  here — 
the  new  existence,  brightened  by  the  new  feeling 
which  has  taken  possession  of  her,  body  and  soul. 
Thanks  to  Mr.  Bruffs  kindness,  she  has  been  often 
to  the  theatre  ;  and  according  to  her  natural  ten- 


218  THE  WHITE  ROSE. 

dencies,  has  derived  considerable  gratification  from 
her  visits.  In  the  two  or  three  pieces  she  has  wit- 
nessed she  can  remember  every  character,  abnost 
every  line  of  every  part.  It  seems  so  foolish,  and 
yet  so  natural,  to  identify  the  hero  with  Gerard,  the 
heroine  with  herself.  When  Mr.  Brnfi*,  as  Rinaldo, 
in  a  black  wig,  a  black  belt,  a  pair  of  black  boots, 
black  moustaches,  and  enormous  black  eyebrows, 
declared  his  love  to  Helena,  no  people  could  be 
more  different  than  that  hoarse  tragedian  and  slim, 
soft-spoken  Gerard  Ainslie.  Yet  it  seems  to  her  now 
that  she  was  Helena,  and  Einaldo  was  the  young 
officer.  When  Bernard,  in  the  Brigand's  Bride , 
stuck  a  lighted  candle  into  a  barrel  of  gunpowder 
(ingeniously  represented  by  a  bushel  of  dirty 
flour),  and  dared  his  ruflB.an  band,  who  "  quailed," 
to  use  his  own  words,  "before  their  captain's  eye," 
to  remain  in  circle  round  these  combustibles,  and 
thus  vindicate  the  claims  of  the  boldest  to  the  best 
of  the  spoil — in  this  case  consisting  of  the  golden- 
haired  Yolante,  a  princess  in  her  own  right,  in- 
curably in  love  with  Bernard,  of  whom  she  was 
supposed  to  know  nothing  but  that  he  had  set  her 
father's  castle  on  fire,  and  carried  her  off  by  main 
force  as  his    captive ; — why,  I  ask,  should  Fanny 


THE   GIRLS  WE  LEAVE  BEHIND   US.  219 

Draper  have  longed  to  be  placed  in  so  false,  not 
to  say  so  perilous  a  position,  if  only  to  be  delivered 
in  tbe  same  uncomfortable  manner  by  her  own 
ideal  of  a  lawless  brigand,  carried  out  in  the  cha- 
racter of  an  ensign  belonging  to  a  marching  regi- 
ment, lately  joined,  and  not  yet  perfect  in  his  drill  ? 
Why,  indeed  !  excejDt  that  Fanny  had  fallen  in  love, 
and  was  mistress  neither  of  her  thoughts,  her  feel- 
ings, nor  her  actions. 

Had  it  been  otherwise,  she  feels  she  might  have 
done  good  business  since  she  came  to  this  obscure 
country  town.  She  might  have  bettered  her  posi- 
tion, and,  for  a  person  of  her  station,  made  no  small 
progress  up  the  social  ladder,  in  all  honour  and 
honesty.  ]N^ot  only  on  the  stage  has  she  lately 
witnessed  scenes  of  love-making  and  courtship. 

Fixing  her  eyes  on  the  gloomy  coals,  she  beholds 
again  a  drama  in  which  but  very  lately  she  enacted 
a  real  and  an  important  part.  She  is  walking  do^vn 
the  High  Street  once  more,  in  a  grey  silk  dress,  wdth 
a  quiet  bonnet,  and  lavender  gloves,  and  a  get-up 
that  she  is  well  aware  combines  the  good  taste  of 
the  lady  with  the  attractions  of  the  coquette.  She 
is  overtaken  by  Captain  Hughes,  who  professes  a 
surprise  thus    to   meet  her;   the   more   remarkable 


220  THE  WHITE  ROSE. 

that  at  the  close  of  their  last  interview  something 
very  like  a  tacit  agreement  provided  for  their  next 
to  be  held  in  this  very  spot.  He  asks  leave,  de- 
murely enough,  to  accompany  her  part  of  the  way 
during  her  walk ;  and  when  she  accords  permission, 
she  is  somewhat  startled  to  find  the  captain's  usual 
flow  of  conversation  has  completely  failed  him,  and 
he  seems  to  have  discovered  something  of  engrossing- 
interest  in  the  knot  that  fastens  his  sash.  As  the 
experienced  fisherman  feels  instinctively  the  rise 
before  he  strikes,  Fanny  is  as  sure  she  has  hooked 
her  captain  as  if  he  was  gasping  at  her  feet ;  and 
is  not  the  least  surprised  when  he  does  speak,  that 
his  voice  comes  thick  and  hoarse  like  that  of  a  man 
in  liquor,  or  in  love. 

He  tells  her  the  day  is  fine,  the  weather  is  altered 
for  the  better ;  that  there  is  no  parade  at  the  bar- 
racks to-morrow ;  that  the  depot  is  about  to  change 
its  quarters ;  that,  for  himself,  he  expects  his  orders 
to  join  the  service-companies  forthwith ;  and  then 
— he  stops,  clears  his  throat,  and  looks  like  an 
idiot ! 

"  It's  coming,"  thinks  Miss  Draper ;  but  she 
won't  help  him,  and  he  has  recourse  to  his  sash  once 
more. 


THE   GIRLS   WE  LEAVE  BEIIIXD  US.  221 

At  last  lie  gives  a  great  gulp,  and  asks  her  to 
accompany  him. 

''  He  has  -^'atched  her  ever  since  she  came.  He 
has  admired  her  from  the  first.  He  never  saw  such 
a  girl  before.  She  is  exactly  the  sort  he  likes.  He 
wishes  he  was  good  enough  for  her.  ^lany  women 
have  thought  him  good  enough  for  anything ; 
many,  he  is  afraid,  good-for-nothing  I  What  does 
she  think  ?  He  cannot  live  without  her.  It  would 
break  his  heart  never  to  see  her  again.  He  is  going 
awa3\     Will  she  accompany  him  ?  " 

And  Fanny,  who  through  all  the  struggles  and 
agitation  of  the  fish  preserves  the  sang-froid  of  the 
fisherman,  answers  demurely  that  "  she  knows  what 
gentlemen  are,  and  that  no  power  on  earth  should 
induce  her  to  accompany  any  man  one  stej)  on  his 
journey  through  life,  whatever  his  attractions  might 
be  or  her  own  feelings  (for  women  were  very  weak, 
you  know),  except  as  his  wife." 

"  As  my  wife  of  course  !  "  gasps  the  Captain, 
prepared  to  pay  the  highest  price  for  indulgence  of 
his  whim,  and  meaning  at  the  moment,  honestly 
enough,  what  he  proposes. 

Miss  Draper  having  now  got  what  she  wants — a 
real  offer  from  a  real  opentleman — considers  she  has 


222  THE   WHITE  ROSE. 

attained  a  sufficient  social  triumph,  and  j^repares  to 
back  out  of  tlie  position  with  as  little  offence  as  pos- 
sible to  the  self-love  of  her  admirer. 

"  It  might  have  been  once/'  she  says,  shaking 
her  head,  and  shooting  a  look  at  him  from  under 
her  eyelashes,  of  which  she  has  often  calculated  the 
exact  power  at  the  same  range — "  it  can  never  be 
now ;  at  least,  it  would  have  to  be  a  long  while 
first.  I  won't  talk  about  my  own  feelings  "  (Miss 
Draper  always  lets  her  lovers  do^Ti  very  easy), 
"  and  I'm  sure  I'll  try  to  spare  yours.  Good-bye, 
Captain  !  I  shall  often  think  of  you  ;  and  you  and 
I  will  always  be  the  best  of  friends,  won't  we  ?  " 

"  Always  !  "   exclaims  the  Captain  ;    and  seizing 

her  hand,  presses  it  to  his  lij)s. 

*  *  *  * 

At  this  stage  of  her  reflections  the  waning  fire,  on 
which  she  gazes,  falls  in  with  a  crash  ;  but  it  fails 
to  disturb  the  invalid ;  neither  is  it  that  sudden  noise 
which  causes  Miss  Draper  to  start  as  if  she  was 
stung,  and  turn  to  the  bed  with  her  eyes  full  of  tears, 
murmuring — 

"  I  couldn't,  I  couldn't,  my  darling !  and  you 
lying  there  !  Oh,  spare  him !  spare  him !  If  he 
would  only  get  well — if  he  would  only  get  well !  " 


THE   GIRLS  WE  LEAVE  BEHIND  US.  223 

Then  she  makes  up  the  fire  cautiously,  so  as  not 
to  wake  him,  wondering  with  a  shiver  if  he  will 
ever  wake  again,  and  goes  down  on  her  knees  by  the 
armchair,  burying  her  face  in  her  hands. 

iS'ot  for  long,  though.  Already  the  grey  dawn  is 
stealing  through  the  half- closed  shutters ;  already 
the  day  has  come  which  the  doctor  more  than  hinted 
would  decide  his  fate.  Hark  !  what  is  that  ?  A 
strain  of  music,  borne  on  the  chill  morning  breeze 
even  to  the  watcher's  ears.  She  frowns  impatiently, 
and  moving  swiftly  to  the  window,  closes  the  shutters 
w4th  a  careful  hand. 

*'  Beasts  !  they  might  wake  him  !  "  she  mutters 
below  her  breath. 

Alas  !  poor  Captain  Hughes  !  Xot  a  twinge  of 
regret  does  she  acknowledge  for  your  departure  ; 
not  a  thought  does  she  waste  on  yourself  and  your 
brother  officers.  ^N'ot  a  moment  does  she  linger  to 
listen  to  its  band,  though  the  depot  of  the  250th 
Regiment  is  marching  ofi"  for  good-and-all  to  the 
tune  of  "  The  Girls  we  leave  behind  us  !  " 


CHAPTEE  XVIII. 


FOR   BETTER. 


"  Happy,"  saj-s  tlie  proverb,  "  is  the  wedding  that 
the  sun  shines  on."  This  is  probably  as  true  as 
most  other  proverbs.  No  doubt  the  sun  shone 
bright  over  the  park  and  grounds  at  Oakover  on 
the  morning  which  was  to  see  John  Yandeleur  for 
the  second  time  a  bridegroom.  Everything,  including 
the  old  housekeeper  fifty  years  in  the  family,  smiled 
auspiciously  on  the  event.  The  lawns  had  been  fresh 
mown,  the  gravel  rolled  smooth,  the  very  flowers  in 
the  garden  seemed  to  have  summoned  the  brightest 
autumn  tints  they  could  afford,  to  do  honour  to  the 
occasion.  The  servants  of  course  were  in  new  and 
gorgeous  attire,  the  men  rejoicing  in  a  period  of 
irregular  work  and  unlimited  beer,  the  women 
jubilant  in  that  savage  glee  with  which  our  natural 


FOR  BETTER.  225 

enemies  celebrate  every  fresli  victory  gained  over 
constituted  authority.  Their  very  ribbons,  dazzling 
and  bran-new,  quivered  with  a  triumph  almost  hys- 
terical in  its  rapture  ;  and  from  the  housekeeper 
before  mentioned,  sixty  years  of  age  and  weighing 
sixteen  stone,  to  the  under- scullery-maid,  not  yet 
confirmed,  one  might  have  supposed  them  about  to 
be  married  to  the  men  of  their  choice  on  the  spot, 
one  and  all. 

Stock  jokes,  good  wishes,  hopeful  forebodings, 
were  rife  in  the  household  ;  and  John  Yandeleur, 
shaving  in  his  dressing-room,  looked  from  his  own 
worn  face  in  the  glass,  to  the  keen  edge  of  his  razor, 
with  a  grim,  unearthly  smile. 

"  Would  it  not  be  better,"  he  muttered — '*  better 
both  for  her  and  for  me  ?  "Wliat  right  have  I  to 
expect  that  this  venture  should  succeed  when  all 
the  others  failed  ?  And  yet — I  don't  think  I  ever 
cared  for  any  of  them  as  I  do  for  this  girl — except 
perhaps  Margaret — poor,  gentle,  loving  Margaret ! 
and  I  had  to  lay  her  in  her  grave  !  'No,  I  could 
not  stand  such  another  '  facer '  as  that.  If  I  thought 
I  must  go  through  such  a  day's  Avork  again,  I'd  get 
out  of  it  all — now,  this  moment,  with  a  turn  of  the 
wrist  and  a  minute's  choke,  like  a  fellow  gargling 

TOL.  I.  Q 


'22G  THE  WHITE  EOSE. 

for  a  sore  throat !  How  surprised  they'd  all  be  ! 
That  ass  of  a  valet  of  mine,  I'll  lay  two  to  one  he'd 
strop  my  razor  before  he  gave  the  alarm.  And 
those  pretty  bridesmaids,  with  their  turquoise  lockets ! 
And  old  Welby — gentlemanlike  old  fellow,  Welby  ! 
It  wouldn't  astonish  him  so  much  :  he  was  one  of  us 
once.  And  poor  Norah  !  She'd  get  over  it,  though, 
and  marry  Gerard  Ainslie  after  all.  Isot  if  I  know 
it !  ^o,  no,  my  boy  !  I'm  not  going  to  throw  the 
game  into  your  hands  like  that  !  If  I  was  but 
fifteen  years  younger,  or  even  ten,  I'd  hold  my 
own  with  any  of  you  !  Ah,  there  was  a  time  when 
John  Vandeleur  coidd  run  most  of  you  at  even 
weights  for  the  Ladies'  Plate  ;  and  now,  I  don't 
believe  she  half  cares  for  me  !  While  I — blast  me 
for  an  old  fool ! — I  love  the  very  gloves  she  wears  ! 
There's  one  of  them  in  that  drawer  now  !  She 
might  do  what  she  liked  with  me.  I  could  be  a 
better  man  with  her — I  know  I've  got  it  in  me. 
How  happy  we  might  be  together  !  Haven't  I  every- 
thing in  the  world  women  like  to  possess  ?  And 
what  sort  of  a  use  have  I  made  of  my  advantages  ? 
I've  had  a  deal  of  fun,  to  be  sure ;  but  hang  me  if 
I'd  do  the  same  again  !  I  should  like  to  turn  over 
a  new  leaf  on  my  wedding-morning.     Some  fellows 


FOR  BETTER.  227 

would  go  down  on  tlieir  knees  and  pray.  I  wish 
I  could  !  " 

Wliy  didn't  lie  ?  why  couldn't  he  ?  It  would 
have  been  his  only  chance,  and  he  let  it  slijD.  He 
finished  dressing  instead,  and  went  down- stairs  to 
inspect  the  preparations  for  his  bride's  welcome  when 
she  came  home.  Except  when  he  swore  at  the 
groom  of  the  chambers  about  some  flower-yases, 
the  servants  thought  he  was  in  high  good-humour  ; 
and  the  upper-housemaid — a  tall  person  of  experi- 
ence, who  had  refused  several  offers — considered  him 
not  a  day  too  old  for  a  bridegroom. 

The  wedding  was  to  take  place  at  Marston,  and 
the  breakfast  to  be  given  in  the  Rectory  by  the 
bride's  father,  who  was  to  officiate  at  the  altar,  and 
offer  up  his  daughter  like  a  second  Agamemnon  :  the 
simile  was  his  own.  Afterwards  the  happy  couple 
were  to  proceed  at  once  to  Oakover,  there  to  spend 
their  honeymoon  and  remain  during  the  winter. 
This  last  was  an  arrangement  of  Yandeleur's,  who, 
having  been  married  before,  was  alive  to  the  dis- 
comfort of  a  continental  trip  for  two  peoj^le  whose 
acquaintance  is,  after  all,  none  of  the  most  intimate, 
and  to  whom  the  privacy  and  comfort  of  a  home  seem 
almost  indispensable.    He  had  earned  his  experience. 


228  THE   WHITE  ROSE. 

and  determined  to  profit  by  it.  This,  you  will  observe^ 
young  ladies,  is  one  of  the  advantages  of  marrying  a 
widower. 

It  is  needless  to  relate  that  at  the  wedding-break- 
fast were  congregated  the  smartest  and  best-dressed 
people  of  the  neighbourhood.  Even  those  who  had 
hitherto  disapproved  of  his  goings-on,  and  kept  aloof 
from  his  society,  were  too  glad  to  welcome  a  man 
of  Mr.  Yandeleur's  acres  and  position  back  into  the 
fold  of  respectability.  There  is  joy  even  on  earth 
over  a  repentant  sinner,  provided  that  he  leaves  off 
bachelor- ways,  opens  his  house,  gives  solemn  dinners, 
and  breaks  out  with  an  occasional  ball  I 

Lady  Baker  was  triumphant.  "  She  had  always 
said  there  was  a  deal  of  good  in  Vandeleur,  that 
only  wanted  bringing  out.  Wild  oats,  my  dear  ! 
Well,  young  men  will  sow  them  plentifully,  you 
know ;  and  neither  J^ewmarket  nor  Paris  are  what 
you  can  call  good  schools.  Poor  Sir  Philip  always 
said  so,  and  he  was  a  thorough  man  of  the  world — a 
thorough  man  of  the  world,  my  dear  ;  and  liked  Mr. 
Yandeleur,  what  he  knew  of  him,  very  much.  To  be 
sure  they  never  met  but  twice.  Ah  !  there  was 
twenty  years'  diflPerence  between  him  and  me,  and  I 
daresay  there's  more  between  this  couple.     Well,  I 


FOR  BETTER.  229 

always  think  a  wife  should  be  younger  than  her  hus- 
band. And  she's  sweetly  pretty,  isn't  she,  Jane  ? 
Though  I  can't  say  I  like  the  shape  of  her  wreath, 
and  I  never  saw  anybody  look  so  deadly  pale  in  my 
life." 

Thus  Lady  Baker  to  her  next  neighbour  at  the 
wedding-breakfast,  Miss  Tregunter,  looking  very 
fresh  and  wholesome  in  white  and  blue,  with  the 
sweetest  turquoise-locket  (Mr.  Yandeleur  had  eight 
of  them  made  for  the  eight  bridesmaids)  that  ever 
rose  and  fell  on  the  soft  bosom  of  one  of  these 
pretty  officials  unattached.  Miss  Tregunter,  know- 
ing she  is  in  her  best  looks,  has  but  one  regret,  that 
she  is  not  dressed  in  pink,  for  she  sits  next  to  Dolly 
Egremont. 

This  young  gentleman  is  in  the  highest  possible 
state  of  health  and  spirits.  He  has  been  up  for  his 
examination,  and  failed  to  pass ;  which,  however,  does 
not  in  the  least  affect  his  peace  of  mind,  as  he  enter- 
tains no  intention  of  trying  again.  He  and  Burton, 
who  has  been  more  fortunate,  and  is  about  to  be 
gazetted  to  a  commission  in  the  Household  Troops  at 
once,  have  come  to  pay  their  old  tutor  a  visit  expressly 
for  the  wedding.  They  consider  themselves  gentle- 
men-at-large  now,  and  finished  men  of  the  world. 


230  THE  WHITE  ROSE. 

Carrying  out  this  idea,  they  assume  an  air  of  proprie- 
torship in  their  relations  with  the  young  ladies  of  the 
party,  which,  though  inexpressibly  offensive  to  its 
male  portion,  is  tolerated  with  considerable  forbear- 
ance, and  even  approval,  by  the  fairer  guests,  espe- 
cially the  bridesmaids.  That  distinguished  body 
has  behaved  with  the  greatest  steadiness  at  church, 
earning  unqualified  approval  from  the  most  competent 
judges,  such  as  clerk  and  sexton,  by  its  fixed  atten- 
tion to  the  Marriage  Service,  no  less  than  from  the 
fascinating  uniformity  of  its  appearance  and  the 
perfection  of  its  drill.  It  is  now,  to  a  certain  extent, 
broken  up  and  scattered  about  ;  for  its  duties  as 
a  disciplined  force  are  nearly  over,  and  each  of 
its  rank-and-file  relapses  naturally  into  her  normal 
state  of  private  warfare  and  individual  aggression 
on  the  common  enemy. 

Miss  Tregunter,  placed  between  Dolly  Egremont 
and  Dandy  Burton,  with  white  soup  in  her  plate 
and  champagne  in  her  glass,  is  a  fair  specimen  of 
the  rest. 

"  Isn't  she  lovely  ?  "  whispers  this  young  lady^ 
as  in  duty  bound,  glancing  at  the  bride,  and  arrang- 
ing her  napkin  carefully  over  her  blue  and  white 
draperies. 


FOR  BETTER.  231 

Dolly  steals  a  look  at  Norah,  sitting  pale  and 
stately  at  the  cross-table  between  her  father  and  her 
husband.  He  cannot  help  thinking  of  Gerard's 
favourite  song,  and  that  reminds  him  of  Gerard. 
A  twinge  takes  his  honest  heart,  while  he  reflects 
that  he  would  not  like  to  see  Miss  Tregunter  in  a 
wreath  of  orange-blossoms  sitting  by  anybody  but 
himself ;  and  that  perhaps  poor  Ainslie  would  be 
very  unhappy  if  he  were  here.  But  this  is  no  time 
for  sadness.  Glasses  are  jingling,  plates  clattering, 
servants  hurrying  about,  and  tongues  wagging  with 
that  enforced  merriment  which  is  so  obvious  at  all 
entertainments  of  a  like  nature.  We  gild  our  wed- 
ding-feasts  with  splendour,  we  smother  them  in 
flowers,  and  swamp  them  in  wine;  yet,  somehow, 
though  the  Death's-head  is  necessarily  a  guest  at  all 
our  banquets,  we  are  never  so  conscious  of  his  pre- 
sence as  on  these  special  occasions  of  festivity  and 
rejoicing. 

"Wants  a  little  more  colour  to  be  perfection," 
answers  cunning  Dolly,  with  a  glance  into  his  com- 
panion's rosy  face.  ''I  don't  admire  your  sickly  beau- 
ties— '  Quenched  in  the  chaste  beams  of  the  watery 
moon  ;  "Whitewash  I  never  condescend  to  spoon.' 
Ain't  I  romantic,  Miss  Tregunter,  and  poetical  ?  " 


232  THE   WHITE   EOSE. 

''  Ain't  you  a  goose  !  "  answers  the  bridesmaid, 
laughing.  "  And  I  don't  believe  you  know  what  you 
do  admire  !  " 

^'  I  admire  blue  and  white,  with  a  turquoise  locket," 
interposes  Dandy  Burton  from  the  other  side.  He 
too  entertains  a  vague  and  undefined  penchant  for 
Miss  Tregunter,  who  is  an  heiress. 

''  Well,  you're  in  luck  !  "  answers  the  young  lady, 
'^  for  you've  eight  of  us  to  stare  at.  Hush  !  Mr. 
Welby's  going  to  speak.  I  hope  he  won't  break  down." 

Then  there  is  a  o^reat  deal  of  knocking  of  knife- 
handles  on  the  table,  and  murmurs  of  "  Hear,  hear  ;  " 
while  all  the  faces  turn  with  one  movement,  as  if 
pulled  by  a  string,  towards  Mr.  AYelby,  who  is 
standing  up,  almost  as  pale  as  his  daughter,  and 
whose  thin  hands  tremble  so  that  he  can  scarcely 
steady  them  against  the  fork  with  which  he  is  scor- 
ing marks  on  the  white  cloth. 

He  calls  on  his  guests  to  fill  their  glasses.  The 
gentlemen  help  the  ladies,  with  a  good  deal  of  sim- 
pering on  both  sides.  A  coachman  acting  footman 
breaks  a  trifle-dish,  and  stands  aghast  at  his  own 
awkwardness.  But,  notwithstanding  this  diversion, 
everybody's  attention  is  again  fastened  on  poor  Mr. 
Welbv,  who  shakes  more  and  more. 


FOR  BETTER.  233 

*'  I  have  a  toast  to  propose,"  he  says  ;  aud  every- 
body repeats,  "  Hear  I  hear  I  "  "A  toast  you  will 
all  drink  heartily,  I  am  sure.  There  are  some  sub- 
jects on  which  the  dullest  man  cannot  help  being 
eloquent.  Some  on  which  the  most  eloquent  must 
break  down.  I  ought  not  to  be  afraid  of  my  own 
voice.  I  have  heard  it  once  a  week  for  a  good 
many  years ;  but  now  I  cannot  say  half  I  mean, 
and  I  feel  a'ou  will  expect  no  long  sermon  from 
me  to-day.  I  have  just  confided  to  my  oldest  friend 
the  earthly  happiness  of  mj^  only  child.  You  all 
know  him,  and  I  need  not  enlarge  upon  his  popu- 
larity, his  talents,  his  social  successes,  and  his  worth. 
Why  should  I  tell  you  my  opinion  of  him  ?  Have 
I  not  an  hour  ago,  in  the  discharge  of  my  sacred 
office  as  a  priest,  and  with  such  blessings  as  only  a 
father's  heart  can  call  down,  given  him  the  very 
apple  of  mine  eye,  the  very  light  of  my  lonely 
home  ?  May  she  be  as  precious  to  him  as  she  has 
been  to  me  I  "  Here  Mr.  Welby's  own  voice  became 
very  hoarse  ;  and  noses  were  blown  at  intervals, 
down  each  side  of  the  table.  "  Of  her  ?  What 
shall  I  say  of  her  ?  "  His  accents  were  low  and 
broken  now,  while  he  only  got  each  sentence  out 
with  difficulty,   bit  by  bit.       "  Why, — that  if  she 


234  THE  WHITE  KOSE. 

proves  but  lialf  as  good  a  wife  to  him — as  she  has 
been — a  daughter  to  me — he  may  thank  God  every 
night  and  morning  from  a  full  heart,  for  the  happi- 
ness of  his  lot.  I  call  upon  you  to  drink  the  healths 
of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Yandeleur ! '' 

How  all  the  guests  nodded  and  drank  and  cheered 
till  the  very  blossoms  shook  on  the  wedding-cake, 
and  their  voices  failed !  Only  Dolly  forgot  to  nod 
or  drink  or  cheer,  so  eagerly  was  his  attention  fixed 
upon  the  bride. 

Brave  JS^orah  never  looked  at  her  father,  never 
looked  at  her  husband,  never  looked  up  from  her 
plate,  nor  moved  a  muscle  of  her  countenance,  but 
sat  still  and  solemn  and  grave,  like  a  beautiful  statue. 
Only  when  the  speaker's  feelings  got  the  better 
of  him  large  tears  welled  up  slowly,  slowly,  into 
her  eyes,  and  dropped  one  by  one  on  the  bouquet 
that  lay  in  her  lap.  Dolly  could  have  cried  too, 
for  that  silent,  sad,  unearthly  quietude  seemed  to 
him  more  piteous,  more  touching,  than  any  amount 
of  flurry  and  tears  and  hysterical  laughter  and 
natural  agitation. 

In  talking  it  over  afterwards,  people  only  pro- 
tested "  how  beautifully  Mr.  Yandeleur  had  be- 
haved !  "  And  no  doubt  that  accomplished  gentleman 


FOR  BETTER.  235 

said  and  did  exactly  the  right  thing  at  the  moment 
and  under  the  circumstances.  A  felon  in  the  dock 
is  hardly  in  a  more  false  position  than  a  bride- 
groom at  his  own  wedding  breakfast.  He  feels, 
indeed,  very  much  as  if  he  had  stolen  something,  and 
everybody  knew  he  was  the  thief.  I  appeal  to  all 
those  who  have  experienced  the  trial,  whether  it  does 
not  demand  an  extreme  of  tact  and  courage  to  avoid 
masking  the  prostration  and  despondency  under 
which  a  man  cannot  but  labour  in  such  a  predica- 
ment, by  an  ill-timed  flippancy  which  everybody  in 
the  room  feels  to  be  impertinence  of  the  worst 
possible  taste. 

Mr.  Yandeleur,  though  he  never  liked  to  look  a 
single  individual  in  the  face,  had  no  shvTiess  on  an 
occasion  like  the  present.  He  was  well  dressed,  well 
got-up,  in  good  spirits,  and  felt  that  he  had  gained 
at  least  ten  years  on  old  Time  to-day.  He  glanced 
proudly  down  on  his  bride,  kindly  and  respectfully 
at  her  father,  pleasantly  roimd  on  the  assembled 
guests ;  touched  frankly  and  cordially  on  the  good 
will  these  displayed  ;  alluded  feelingly  to  Mr. 
Welby's  afiection  for  his  daughter ;  neither  said 
too  much  nor  too  little  about  his  own  sentiments ; 
humbly  hoped  he  might  prove  worthy  of  the  bless- 


236  THE  WHITE  ROSE. 

ing  he  should  strive  hard  to  deserve ;  and  ended 
by  calling  on  Dandy  Burton,  as  the  youngest  man 
present — or,  at  all  events,  the  one  with  the  smartest 
neckcloth — to  propose  the  health  of  the  brides- 
maids. 

It  was  a  good  speech, — everybody  said  so  ;  good 
feeling,  good  taste,  neither  too  grave  nor  too  gay. 
Everybody  except  Burton,  who  found  himself  in  an 
unexpected  fix,  from  which  there  could  be  no  escape. 
The  Dandy  was  not  shy,  but  for  the  space  of  at  least 
five  minutes  he  wished  himself  a  hundred  miles  off. 
Neither  did  Miss  Tregunter  help  him  in  the  least. 
On  the  contrar}^  she  looked  up  at  him  when  he  rose, 
with  a  comic  amazement,  and  unfeeling  derision  in 
her  rosy  face,  which  it  was  well  calculated  to  ex- 
press, but  which  confused  him  worse  and  worse. 

So  he  fingered  his  glass,  and  shifted  from  one 
leg  to  the  other,  and  hemmed  and  hawed,  and  at 
last  got  out  his  desire  ''  to  propose  the  health  of  the 
bridesmaids — whose  dresses  had  been  the  admira- 
tion of  the  beholders  ;  who,  one  and  all,  were  only 
second  in  beauty  to  the  bride ;  and  who  had  per- 
formed their  part  so  well.  He  was  quite  sure  he 
expressed  the  feelings  of  every  one  present  in  hoping 
to   see  them   act    equally  creditably  at   no    distant 


FOR  BETTER.  237 

date  on  a  similar  occasion ; ''  and  so  sat  down  in  a 
state  of  intense  confusion,  under  tlie  scowls  of  the 
young  ladies,  the  good-natured  silence  of  the  gentle- 
men, and  an  audible  whisper  from.  Miss  Tregunter, 
that  ''  she  never  heard  anybody  make  such  a  mess 
of  anything  in  her  life  I  " 

Somebody  must  return  thanks  for  the  bridesmaids ; 
and  a  whisper  creeping  round  the  tables  soon  rose 
to  a  shout  of  "  3Ir.  Eo^remont  I  Mr.  E(?remont ! 
Go  it,  Dolly !  Sj^eak  up  !  It's  all  in  your  line  ! 
Ko  quotations  I  '^  It  brought  Dolly  to  his  legs  ;  and 
he  endeavoured  to  respond  with  the  amount  of 
merriment  and  facetiousness  required.  But  no  ;  it 
would  not  come.  That  pale  face  with  the  slowly- 
dropping  tears  still  haunted  him ;  and  whilst  he 
could  fix  his  thoughts  on  nothing  else,  he  dared 
not  look  again  in  the  direction  of  the  bride.  He 
blundered,  indeed,  through  a  few  of  the  usual  empty 
phrases  and  yapid  compliments.  He  identified  him- 
self with  the  bundle  of  beauty  for  which  he  spoke  ; 
he  only  regretted  not  being  a  bridesmaid,  because 
if  he  were,  he  could  never  possibly  be  a  bridegroom. 
He  lamented,  like  a  hj-pocrite.  as  Miss  Tregunter 
well  knew,  the  difficulty  of  choosing  from  so  dazzling 
an  assemblage,  and  concluded  by  thanking  Burton, 


238  THE  WHITE  ROSE. 

in  tlie  name  of  the  young  ladies  lie  represented,  for 
Ms  good  wishes  on  future  occasions  of  a  similar 
nature,  but  suggested  that  perhaps  if  they  came  to 
the  altar  "  one  at  a  time,  it  would  last  the  longer, 
and  might  prove  a  more  interesting  ceremony  to 
each." 

Still  Dolly's  heart  was  heavy ;  and  misgivings 
of  evil,  such  as  he  had  never  entertained  before, 
clouded  his  genial  humour,  and  almost  brought  the 
tears  to  his  eyes.  Even  when  the  "  happy  couple  " 
drove  off,  and  he  threw  an  old  shoe  for  luck  after 
their  carriage,  something  seemed  to  check  his  out- 
stretched arm,  something  seemed  to  whisper  in  his 
ear,  that  for  all  the  bright  sunshine  and  the  smiling 
sky  a  dark  cloud  lowered  over  the  pale  proud  head 
of  the  beautiful  bride  ;  and  that  for  ITorah  Yande- 
leur  ancient  customs,  kindly  superstitions,  and  good 
wishes,  were  all  in  vain. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 


FOR   WORSE. 


Mr.  Bruff  was  a  kind-liearted  fellow.  To  tlieir 
credit  be  it  spoken,  actors  and  actresses,  although  so 
familiar  with  fictitious  sorrow  and  excitement,  are 
of  all  people  the  most  sensitive  to  cases  of  real 
distress.  Many  a  morning  had  Mr.  Bruff  waited 
anxiously  for  Mrs.  Briggs,  to  hear  her  report  of  the 
young  officer's  health  ;  and  at  last,  when  that  worthy 
woman  informed  him,  with  a  radiant  face,  that  the 
patient  was  what  she  called  "  on  the  turn,"  he  shook 
both  her  hands  Tvdth  such  vehemence  that  she  felt 
persuaded  she  had  made  a  conquest,  and  began  to 
reflect  on  the  prudence  of  marrying  again,  being 
well-to-do  in  the  world,  and  not  much  past  fifty 
years  of  age.  She  had,  however,  many  other  matters 
on  her  mind  just  at  present.     From  the  time  Gerard 


240  THE   WHITE  ROSE. 

recovered  consciousness,  Fanny  was  never  in  his 
room  except  while  lie  slept,  though,  she  continually 
pervaded  the  passage,  poor  girl,  with  a  pale  face, 
and  eager,  anxious  eyes.  On  Mrs.  Briggs,  therefore, 
devolved  the  nursing  of  the  invalid;  a  duty  she 
undertook  with  extreme  good-will  and  that  energy 
which  seldom  deserts  a  woman  who  is  continually 
cleaning  her  own  house,  and  ''  tidying  up,"  both 
above- stairs  and  below. 

She  wished,  though,  she  had  put  on  a  smarter  cap, 
when  Mr.  Bruff  tapped  at  the  door,  to  present  his 
compliments,  with  kind  inquiries,  good  wishes,  and 
yesterday's  paper — not  very  clean,  and  tainted  by 
tobacco-smoke,  but  calculated,  nevertheless,  to  en- 
liven the  leisui^e  of  an  invalid  in  an  armchair. 

Gerard  was  this  morning  out  of  bed  for  the  first 
time.  Mrs.  Briggs  had  got  him  up  ;  had  washed, 
dressed,  and  would  even  have  shaved  him,  but  that 
the  young  chin  could  well  dispense  with  such  atten- 
tion. No  contrast  could  be  much  greater  than  that 
of  the  wan,  delicate,  emaciated  invalid  by  the  fire, 
and  the  square,  black-browed,  rough-looking,  red- 
nosed  sympathiser  in  the  passage. 

Mrs.  Briggs,  with  her  sleeves  tucked  up,  and 
aj^ron  girded  round  her  waist,  kept  the  door  ajar. 


FOR  WORSE.  241 

and  so  held  converse  with  the  visitor,  while  she 
would  not  permit  him  to  come  in.  '' To-morrow, 
3Ir.  Bruff,"  said  she,  graciously,  ''or  the  day  after, 
accordino'  as  the  doctor  thinks  well.  You've  a  srood 
heart  of  your  own,  though  you  don't  look  it !  And 
he  thanks  you  kindly,  does  my  poor  young  gentle- 
man, for  he's  dozing  beautiful  now,  and  so  do  I ;  " 
slamming  the  door  thereafter  in  his  face,  and  return- 
ing with  the  newspaper  to  her  charge.  ''  And  vou 
may  thank  heaven  on  your  knees,  my  dear,"  con- 
tinued the  landlady,  who  liked  to  imj^rove  an  occa- 
sion, and  was  never  averse  to  hear  herself  talk,  "  as 
you're  sitting  alive  and  upright  in  that  there  cheer 
this  blessed  day.  You  may  thank  heaven,  and  the 
young  woman  upstairs,  as  was  with  you  when  the}' 
brought  you  in,  and  never  left  you,  my  dear,  day 
and  night,  till  you  took  your  turn,  no  more  nor  if 
she'd  been  your  sister  or  your  sweetheart !  " 

"  What !  I've  been  very  bad,  have  I  ?  "  asked 
Gerard,  still  a  good  deal  confused,  and  conscious 
chiefly  of  great  weakness  and  a  languor  not  wholly 
unpleasant. 

"  Bad !  "  echoed  Mrs.  Briggs.  "  It's  dcath's-door 
as  you've  been  nigh,  my  dear,  to  the  very  scraper. 
And   when   we'd    all  lost  heart,    and   even  Doctor 

VOL.    I.  R 


242  THE   WHITE  ROSE. 

Driver  looked  as  black  as  niglit,  and  shook  his  head 
solemn,  it  was  only  the  young  woman  upstairs  as 
kep'  us  up,  for  we  can't  spare  him,  says  she,  an'  we 
won't,  as  pale  as  death,  an'  as  fixed  as  fate.  An' 
Doctor  Driver  says,  says  he,  '  If  ever  a  young  gentle- 
man was  kep'  alive  by  careful  nursing,  why,  my 
dear,  it  was  your  own  self,  through  this  last  ten  days, 
an'  that's  the  girl  as  done  it ! '  " 

*'  "Where  is  she  ? "  exclaimed  Gerard,  eagerly, 
and  with  a  changing  colour,  that  showed  how  weak 
he  was.  "  I've  never  thanked  her.  Can't  I  see 
her  at  once  ?     What  a  brute  she  must  think  me  !  " 

"  Patience,  m}^  dear,"  said  motherly  Mrs.  Briggs. 
"  It  isn't  likely  as  the  young  woman  would  come 
in  now  you're  so  much  better,  till  you  was  up  and 
dressed.  But  if  you'll  promise  to  take  your 
chicken-broth  like  a  good  young  gentleman,  why 
I  daresay  as  the  young  woman  will  bring  it  up 
for  you.  And  I  must  go  and  see  about  it  now,  this 
minute,  for  I  dursn't  trust  H'Ann.  So  you  take 
a  look  of  your  paper  there,  and  keep  your  mind 
easy,  my  dear,  for  you're  getting  better  nicely 
now,  though  it's  good  food  and  good  nursing  as 
you  require,  and  good  food  and  good  nursing  I'll 
take  care  as  you  get." 


FOR  WORSE.  243 

80  Mrs.  Briggs  scuttled  off  to  her  own  especial 
department  below-stairs,  pleased  with  the  notion 
that  a  touching  little  romance  was  going  on  in  her 
humble  dwelling,  fostered  by  the  combined  influences 
of  convalescence,  contiguity,  and  chicken-broth.  She 
felt  favourably  disposed  towards  her  invalid,  towards 
his  nurse,  towards  Mr.  Bruff,  towards  the  world  in 
general, — even  towards  the  negligent  and  constantly 
erring  H'Ann. 

Gerard,  left  alone,  tried,  of  course,  to  walk  across 
the  room,  and  was  surprised  to  find  that  he  could 
not  so  much  as  stand  without  holding  by  the  table. 
Even  after  so  trifling  an  exertion  he  was  glad  to 
return  to  his  chair,  and  sank  back  to  read  his 
newspaper,  with  a  sigh  of  extreme  contentment  and 
repose. 

Its  columns  seemed  to  recall  at  once  that  world 
which  had  so  nearly  slipped  away.  He  skipped 
the  leading  article,  indeed,  but  would  probably 
have  missed  it  had  he  been  in  high  health,  and 
proceeded  to  those  lighter  subjects  which  it  re- 
quired little  mental  effort  to  master  or  comprehend. 
He  read  a  couple  of  police  reports  and  a  divorce 
case  ;  learned  that  a  scientific  gentleman  had  pro- 
pounded a  new  theory  about  aerolites ;    and  tried 


:244  THE  WHITE   ROSE. 

to  realise  a  distressing  accident  (nine  lives  lost) 
on  the  Merse}'.  Then  he  rested  a  little,  plunged 
into  a  more  comfortable  attitude,  and  turned  the 
sheet  for  a  look  at  the  other  side. 

There  was  half  a  column  of  births,  deaths,  and 
marriages,  and  he  was  languidly  pitying  Felix 
Bunney,  Esq  ,  of  The  Warren,  whose  lady  had  pro- 
duced twins,  when,  casting  his  eye  a  little  lower 
down,  he  read  the  following  announcement : — ''  On 

the  —  instant,  at  Marston  Rectory, shire,  by  the 

Reverend  William  Welby,  father  of  the  bride, 
Leonora,  only  daughter  of  the  above,  to  John  Yan- 
deleur,  Esq.,  of  Oakover,   in  the  same  county,  and 

Square,  London,    S.W."       His   head    swam. 

That  was  bodity  weakness,  of  course  !  But  though 
the  printed  letters  danced  up  and  down  the  paper, 
he  made  an  effort,  and  read  it  over  carefully,  word 
by  word,  once  more.  His  first  feeling,  strange  to 
say,  was  of  astonishment  that  he  could  bear  the 
blow  so  well ;  that  he  was  not  stunned,  prostrated, 
driven  mad  outright !  Perhaps  his  very  weakness 
was  in  his  favour  ;  perhaps  the  extreme  bodily  lassi- 
tude to  which  he  was  reduced  deprived  him  of  the 
power  to  sufier  intensel}^,  and  the  poor  bruised  reed 
bent  under  a  blast  that  would  have  crushed  some 


FOR  WORSE.  245 

tlim-ing  standard  plant  cruelly  to  the  earth.  He 
realised  the  whole  scene  of  the  wedding,  though  its 
figures  wavered  before  his  eyes  like  a  dream.  He 
could  see  the  grave  father  and  priest  in  his  long, 
sweeping  vesture ;  the  manly,  confident  face  of  Mr. 
Vandeleur,  with  its  smile  of  triumph  ;  the  bonny 
bridesmaids  circling  round  the  altar ;  and  Xorah. 
pale,  stately,  beautiful,  with  that  fatal  wreath  on  her 
fair  young  broAv,  and  her  transjDarent  veil  floating- 
like  a  mist  about  the  glorious  form  that  he  had  hoped 
against  hope  some  day  to  make  his  own.  Fool  I 
fool !  coiJd  he  blame  her  ?  AVhat  right  had  he  to 
suppose  she  was  to  waste  her  youth  and  beauty  on 
a  chance,  and  wait  years  for  him  P  He  ought  to 
have  known  it.  He  ought  to  have  expected  it. 
But  it  was  hard  to  bear.  Hard,  hard,  to  bear  ! 
Particularly  now  !  Then  he  leaned  his  head  on  the 
table,  and  wept  freely — bitterly.  Poor  fellow  !  he 
was  weakened,  you  see,  by  illness,  and  not  himself, 
or  he  would  surely  never  have  given  way  like  this. 
After  a  while  he  rallied,  for  the  lad  did  not  want 
courage,  and,  weak  as  he  was,  summoned  up  pride 
to  help  him.  I  think  it  hurt  him  then  more  than 
at  first.  I*resently  he  grew  angry,  as  men  often  do 
when  very  sorrowfid,  and  turned  fiercely  against  the 


246  THE  WHITE    ROSE. 

love  lie  had  so  clierislied  for  montlis,  vowiug  that 
it  was  all  feverish  folly  and  illusion,  a  boy's  malady, 
that  must  be  got  over  and  done  with  before  he  enters 
upon  a  man^s  work.  He  ought  to  have  known  the 
truth  Ions:  ao^o.  He  had  read  of  such  thins^s  in  his 
Ovid,  in  his  Lempriere,  in  Thackeray's  biting  pages, 
clandestinely  devoured  at  study-hours,  beneath  a 
voliune  of  Whewell's  Dynamics,  or  Gibbon's  Roman 
Empire.  Van'um  et  midahUe  seemed  the  verdict 
alike  of  Latin  love-poet  and  classical  referee  ;  while 
the  English  novelist,  whose  sentiments  so  strangely 
influence  both  young  and  old,  spoke  of  the  sub- 
ject with  a  grim  pity,  half  in  sorrow,  half  in  anger, 
excusing  with  quaint  phrases,  and  pathetic  humour, 
the  inconstancy  of  her  whose  ver}^  nature  it  is  to 
be  fascinated  by  novelty  and  subject  to  the  influence 
of  change. 

"  I  suppose  women  are  all  so  !  "  concluded  the 
invalid,  with  a  sigh ;  and  then  he  remembered 
Mother  Briggs's  account  of  his  accident,  and  his 
illness ;  of  the  nurse  that  had  tended  him  so  in- 
defatigably  and  so  devotedly;  wondering  who  she 
was,  and  what  she  was,  when  he  was  likely  to  se? 
her,  whether  she  was  pretty,  and  wliy  she  was 
there. 


FOK  AVORSE.  '2-^7 

]S'otwithstandmg  all  this,  lie  began  to  read  over 
the  paragraph  about  the  wedding  once  again,  when 
there  came  a  tap,  and  the  bump  of  a  tray  against  his 
door.  The  chicken-broth  now  made  its  appearance, 
flanked  by  long  strips  of  toast,  and  borne  by  a 
comely  young  woman  quietly  dressed,  whom  he 
recognised  at  once  as  his  former  fishing  acquaint- 
ance. Miss  Draper  of  Ripley  Mill. 

Fanny's  beauty,  always  of  the  florid  order,  had 
not  sufiered  from  watching  and  anxiety.  On  the 
contrary,  it  ap^^eared  more  refined  and  delicate  than 
of  old  ;  nor,  though  she  had  been  very  pale  in  the 
passage,  was  there  any  want  of  colour  in  her  face 
while  she  set  down  the  tray.  Never  in  her  life  had 
she  blushed  so  scarlet,  never  trembled  and  turned 
^way  before  from  the  face  of  man. 

He  half  rose,  in  natural  courtesy,  but  his  knees 
would  not  keep  straight,  and  he  was  fain  to  sit  down 
again.  She  came  round  behind  him,  and  busied  her- 
self in  settling  the  pillows  of  his  chair. 

''  Miss  Draper,"  he  began,  trying  to  turn  and  look 
licr  in  the  face,  "  what  must  you  think  of  me  ? 
!N^ever  to  have  recognised  you !  Never  to  have 
thanked  you  I  I  only  heard  to-day  of  all  your 
kindness ;  and  till  you  came  in  this  moment,  I  had 


248  THE   WHITE    ROSE. 

not  found  out  who  it  was  that  nursed  me.  I  must 
Lave  been  very  ill  indeed  not  to  know  yo«." 

Weak  and  faint  as  it  came,  it  was  the  same  voice 
that  so  won  on  her,  that  soft  summer's  day,  when 
the  Maj^fly  was  on  Iiipley-water.  It  was  the  same 
kindly,  gentle,  high-bred  manner  that  a^'ted  on  the 
low-born  woman  like  a  charm. 

"  You  have  been  very  ill,  sir,"  she  murmured,  still 
keeping  behind  him.  "Tou  frightened  us  all  for  a 
day  or  two.     It's  heaven's  mercy  you  came  through." 

He  sighed.  Was  he  thinking  that  for  him  it 
would  have  been  more  merciful  never  to  have 
recovered  a  consciousness  that  only  made  him 
vulnerable  ?  Better  to  have  been  carried  down  the 
lodging-house  stairs  in  his  coffin,  than  to  walk  out 
on  his  feet,  with  the  knowledge  that  JS'orah  Yan- 
deleur  was  lost  to  him  for  ever  !  But  he  could  not 
be  ungrateful,  and  his  voice  trembled  with  real  feel- 
ing, while  he  said,  "It  is  not  only  heaven's  mercy, 
but  your  care,  that  has  saved  me.  You  must  not 
think  I  don't  feel  it.  It  seems  so  absurd  for  a  fellow 
not  to  be  able  to  stand  up.  I — I  can't  say  half  as 
much  as  I  should  like." 

Still  behind  him,  still  careful  that  he  should  not 
see  her  face,   though  there  were  no  blushes  to  hide 


FOK  WORSE.  249 

now.  Indeed  she  had  grown  very  pale  again.  Her 
Yoicc,  too,  was  none  of  the  steadiest,  while  she 
assumed  the  nurse's  authority  once  more,  and  bade 
him  begin  on  his  chicken-broth  without  delay. 

*'  I  know  it's  good,"  said  she,  "  for  I  helped  to 
make  it.  lioth  Mrs.  Briggs  and  Doctor  Driver  say 
you  must  have  plenty  of  nourishment.  Hadn't  you 
better  cat  it  before  it's  cold  ?  " 

Convalescence  in  early  manhood  means  the  hunger 
of  the  wolf.  Ho  obeyed  at  once  ;  and  Fanny,  fairly 
turning  her  back  on  him,  looked  steadfastly  out  of  the 
window. 

I  do  not  know  why  there  should  be  less  romance 
in  the  consumption  of  chicken-broth  by  an  Infantry 
ensign  than  in  the  cutting  of  bread  and  butter  bj' 
a  German  maiden,  with  blue  eyes,  flaxen  hair,  and 
well-developed  form.  It  all  depends  upon  the 
accessories.  I  am  not  sure  but  that  on  reflection 
most  of  us  would  be  forced  to  admit  that  the  ten- 
derest  moments  of  our  lives  are  comiected  in  some 
manner  with  the  act  of  eating  and  di-inking.  Of 
all  ways  to  the  heart,  the  shortest  seems,  perhaps, 
to  be  down  the  throat.  In  the  higher  classes,  what 
a  deal  of  love-making  is  carried  on  at  dinner  parties, 
pic-nics,   abo^e    all,  ball- suppers.      In    the    middle, 


250  THE  WHITE  ROSE. 

a  suitor  never  feels  that  lie  is  progressing  satis- 
factorily till  lie  is  asked  to  tea ;  and  in  the  lower, 
although  bread  and  cheese  as  well  as  bacon  may 
prove  non-conductors,  a  good  deal  of  business,  no 
doubt,  is  done  through  the  agency  of  beer  !  "  Yenus 
perishes,"  says  the  Latin  proverb,  "  without  the 
assistance  of  Bacchus  and  Ceres."  ^ov,  although 
I  am  far  from  disputing  that  love-fits  may  be  con- 
tracted so  violent  as  to  prove  incurable  even  by 
starvation,  have  I  aii}^  doubt  that  the  disease  is  more 
fatal  to  a  full  man  than  one  fasting.  In  other  words, 
that  few  admirers,  if  any,  are  so  attentive,  so  plas- 
tic, so  playful,  altogether  so  agreeable,  before  break- 
fast as  after  dinner. 

Gerard  finished  every  crumb  of  his  toast  and  every 
drop  of  his  chicken-broth  undisturbed.  The  avidity 
with  which  he  ate  was  in  itself  the  best  possible 
omen  of  returning  health  and  strength ;  and  yet 
Fanny  still  looked  out  at  window,  on  the  dull  de- 
serted street.  Even  the  tinkling  of  his  spoon  in 
the  empty  basin  did  not  serve  to  arrest  her  atten- 
tion, and  he  would  have  gone  and  shaken  her  by  the 
hand,  to  thank  her  once  more  for  her  kindness,  but 
that  he  linew  he  could  not  walk  those  three  paces  to 
save  his  life. 


FOR  WORSE.  251 

His  pocket-handkercliief  was  on  the  chininey- 
piece  ;  lie  wanted  it,  and  could  not  reach  it.  ]S^o- 
thing  was  more  natural  than  that  he  should  ask 
his  nurse  to  hand  it  him,  neither  was  it  possible  for 
her  to  refuse  compliance ;  but  as  their  fingers  met, 
although  she  tried  hard  to  keep  her  face  averted,  he 
could  not  but  see  that  the  tears  were  streaming 
down  her  cheeks — tears,  as  his  own  heart  told  him, 
of  joy  and  thanksgiving  for  his  safety— tears  of  pity 
and  afiection — and  of  love. 

He  clasped  the  hand  that  touched  his  own,  and 
drew  her  towards  him.  "  Miss  Draper — Fanny  I  " 
said  he,  never  a  word  more,  and  she  flimg  herself 
down  on  her  knees,  and  buried  her  face  on  his  arm, 
bursting  out  sobbing  as  if  her  heart  would  break ; 
and  then  he  knew  it  all — all ; — the  whole  sad  story 
from  the  beginning  of  their  acquaintance — the 
ill-matched,  ill -conceived  attachment  out  of  which 
happiness  could  never  come  I  He  pitied  her,  he 
soothed  her,  he  stroked  her  glossA'  hair,  he  bent  his 
own  face  down  to  hers. 

"I  love  you  I  I  love  you  I  "  she  sobbed  out  wildly. 
*'  I  loved  you  from  the  first — the  da}'  we  walked 
together  by  Ptipley-water.  I  can't  help  it.  It's 
too  late  now.      If  vou  had  died,  I  should  have  died 


2'j2  the  white,  rose, 

too.  If  you  go  away  and  leave  me,  I'll  break  my 
heart.  Oh  I  if  I  was  a  lady  1  If  only  I  was  a  lady  ! 
Why  shouldn't  I  be  ?  '' 

lie  was  weakened  by  illness.  He  was  alone  in 
the  world  now.  His  heart,  all  sore  and  quivering, 
was  painfidly  sensitive  to  the  touch  of  consolation 
and  affection.  What  wonder  if  he  suffered  his  wiser 
nature  to  be  overborne  ;  what  wonder  if  he  accepted 
all  that  was  so  lavishh"  poured  out  at  his  feet, 
and  shutting  his  e^'es  wilfulty  to  consequences,  pro- 
mised Fanny  Draper  that  she  shoidd  be  ''a  lady" 
as  soon  as  ever  he  was  strong  enough  to  stand  iip  and 
say  "  amen  "  in  a  church? 

Mr.  Bruff,  could  he  have  obtained  admittance, 
might  have  taken  a  very  pretty  lesson  in  stage  love- 
making  during  the  next  half-hour.  Gerard  Ainslie, 
lending  himself  willingly  to  that  which  he  knew  all 
the  time  was  an  illusion,  vowed  to  his  own  heart 
that  he  was  acting  nobly,  honourably,  chivalrously, 
according  to  the  dictates  of  gratitude,  and  as  in 
duty  bound  ;  while  Fanny  Draper,  in  love  for  the 
first  time  in  her  life,  felt  she  had  gained  everything 
hitherto  desired  by  her  ill-regulated  fancy,  and  was 
ready,  nay,  willing,  to  take  the  consequences  of  her 
venture,  be  they  what  they  might. 


CHAPTER  XX. 


THE      HONEYMOON. 


There  was  a  pretty  little  room  at  Oakover,  opcnmg 
by  a  Frencli  window  into  a  sheltered  flower-garden, 
wMcli  Mrs.  Yandeleur  had  voted  from  the  very  first 
especially  adapted  for  a  breakfast-parlour.  Its 
bright  paper,  pretty  furniture,  choice  engravings, 
and,  above  all,  abundance  of  light,  afforded  every 
encouragement  to  that  cheerfulness  of  mood  and 
feelings  with  which  it  is  advisable  to  begin  the  day. 
It  must  have  been  an  obstinate  fit  of  ill-humour 
to  resist  all  these  accessories,  assisted  by  a  glimpse  of 
sunshine,  a  well-served  breakfast,  and  a  comfortable 
fire. 

Into  this  pleasant  apartment  stepped  Mr.  Yan- 
deleur about  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning  towards 
the   conclusion   of  that   sequestered   period  termed 


254  THE  WHITE    ROSE. 

conyentionallj'  his  honeymoon,  but  on  the  bride- 
groom's worn  face  sat  an  expression  of  restlessness 
and  discontent  in  keeping  neither  with  time  nor 
place.  He  walked  up  to  the  fire,  seized  the  poker, 
gave  a  savage  dig  at  the  coals,  and  rang  the  bell 
with  a  short,  stern  jerk  that  brought  the  smoothest 
and  j)olitest  of  servants  to  the  door  in  less  than 
thirty  seconds.  They  were  all  a  good  deal  afraid 
of  him  below-stairs,  and  it  is  needless  to  say 
nobody  was  better  waited  on  than  the  master  of 
Oakover. 

"  Has   Mrs.    Yandeleur   been  down  ? "    said   he, 
glancing  impatiently  at  the  unused  breakfast-service. 
^'1  think  not,  sir,"    answered  the    domestic  re- 
spectfully, "but  Miss  Glancer's  just  come  from  her 
room,  and  I'll  inquire." 

"Tell  her  to  go  up  again  and  let  her  mistress 
know  breakfast  is  ready,"  said  his  master  sternly, 
and  walked  off  to  the  window  muttering,  not  so  low 
but  that  the  servant  overheard — 

"  Not  down  yet !  She  never  is  down  when  I  am! 
To  be  sure,  Glancer's  the  worst  maid  in  Europe.  I 
can  see  that  with  half  an  eye.  And  a  saucy,  trouble- 
some jade  into  the  bargain.  Margaret  always  used 
to    breakfast   with  me.      But  this  one — this  one ! 


THE  HONEYMOON.  25o 

I  wonder  whetlier  I've  been  a  cursed  fool  ?  Some- 
times I  think  I  have  !  " 

Then  Mr.  Yandeleur^  taking  no  notice  of  his 
breakfast,  nor  the  im opened  letters  piled  beside 
his  plate,  whistled,  shook  his  head,  thrust  his  hands 
into  his  j)ockets,  and  looked  out  at  window. 

It  was  late  autumn,  almost  early  winter,  and  a 
coating  of  hoar-frost  still  la}'  crisp  and  white  where 
the  lawn  was  sheltered  by  an  angle  of  the  building 
from  the  sun.  Such  flowers  as  had  not  been  removed 
were  sadly  blackened  by  the  cold  ;  while,  though 
the  tan  and  russet  hues  of  the  waning  year  still 
clothed  their  lower  branches,  the  topmost  twigs  of 
the  trees  cut  bare  and  leafless  against  the  deep, 
blue,  dazzling  sky.  •  The  scene  without  was  bright, 
clear,  and  beautiful ;  but  chilling,  hard,  and  cheer- 
less, all  the  same. 

Perhaps  it  was  the  more  in  keeping  with  certain 
reflections  of  the  proprietor  within.  For  five 
minutes  he  stood  motionless,  looking  steadfastly 
at  a  presumptuous  robin  smirking  and  sidling  and 
pruning  itself  on  the  gravel-walk. 

In  that  five  minutes  how  many  by- gone  scenes  did 
he  conjure  up  !  How  many  years,  how  much  of  an 
ill- spent  lifetime,  did  he  travel  back  into  the  past ! 


256  THE  WHITE  ROSE. 

London,  in  the  heyday  of  youth,  and  health,  and 
hope.  Fashion,  position,  popularity,  smiles  of 
beauty,  smiles  of  fortune,  social  and  material  success 
of  every  kind.  Paris,  in  the  prime  of  manhood, 
when  the  gilt  was  perhaps  a  little  off  the  ginger- 
bread, but  the  food  tasted  luscious  and  satisfying 
still.  More  smiles,  more  beauty  ;  the  smiles  franker, 
broader,  sprightlier  ;  the  beauty  less  retiring,  less 
difficidt  to  please.  Then  England  once  more,  with 
its  field-sports,  its  climate,  its  comforts,  its  con- 
veniences ;  the  boon  companions,  the  jovial  gather- 
ino's,  the  libertv,  even  the  license  of  a  bachelor  in 
a  countr}^  home.  After  that,  marriage.  Spirits 
still  buoyant,  health  still  unbroken,  and  the  dear 
fragile,  devoted,  tender  wife,  of  whom,  even  now, 
here  waiting  for  his  bride  to  breakfast  with  him,  he 
coidd  not  think  ^\'ithout  a  gnawing  pain  about  his 
heart ! 

His  bride!  The  one  woman  of  his  whole  life 
whom  he  had  most  desired  to  win.  Xot  to  please 
his  fancy,  as  he  knew  too  well ;  not  to  minister  to 
his  vanity;  but — and  he  smiled  to  think  he  was 
using  the  language  of  idiotic  romance  and  drawing- 
room  poetry,  of  mifledged  boys  and  boarding-school 
ffirls — to  satisfy  his  longing  to  be  loved.    He,  the 


THE  HONEYMOON.  257 

used-up,  worn-out,  grizzled  old  reprobate !  What 
business  had  be,  as  be  asked  bimself,  grinning  and 
clenching  bis  hands,  what  business  had  he  with 
hopes  and  fancies  like  these  ?  After  such  a  life 
as  his,  was  he  to  be  rewarded  at  last  by  the  true 
affection  of  a  pure  and  spotless  woman  ?  If  there 
was  such  a  thing  as  retribution  in  this  world,  what 
had  he  a  right  to  expect  ?  Dared  he  tell  her  a 
tenth,  a  hundredth  of  his  follies,  his  iniquities,  his 
crimes  ?  Could  he  look  into  those  guileless  eyes, 
and  not  blush  with  very  shame  at  his  own  memories  ? 
Could  he  rest  his  head  on  that  white  sinless  breast, 
and  not  quiver  with  remorse,  self-scorn,  and  self- 
reproach?  Still,  if  she  did  but  love  him,  if  she 
could  but  love  him,  he  felt  there  was  a  chance  for 
repentance  and  amendment ;  he  felt  there  was  hope 
even  for  him. 

If  she  could  but  love  him.  Alas  !  he  was  begrin- 
ning  to  fear  she  had  not  learned  to  love  him  yet. 

A  quiet  step  in  the  passage,  the  rustle  of  a  dress, 
and  Norah  entered  the  room.  iS^orah,  looking  twice 
as  beautiful  as  on  the  weddino^  morning:,  though 
still  far  too  pale  and  grave  and  stately  for  a  bride. 
Her  deep  eyes  had  always  something  of  melancholy 
in   them,   but   they  were  deeper   and  darker  than 

VOL.  I.  s 


258  THE  WHITE   ROSE. 

ever  of  late ;  while  on  the  chiseled  features  of  the 
fair,  proud  face,  for  months  had  been  settling  an 
expression  of  repressed  feeling  and  enforced  com- 
posure, that  caused  it  to  look  tranquil,  reseryed,  and 
matronly  beyond  its  years. 

She  was  beautifully  dressed,  though  in  somewhat 
sober  colours  for  a  bride,  and  as  Yandeleur  turned 
round  on  her  entrance,  his  eyes  could  not  but  be 
pleased  with  the  folds  of  falling  drapery  that  marked 
while  they  enhanced  the  faultless  outline  of  her 
shape. 

She  passed  his  letters  with  scarcely  a  glance, 
though  the  uppermost  of  the  pile  was  addressed  in 
a  hand,  feeble,  delicate,  scrawling,  not  to  be  mis- 
taken for  a  man's.  Few  wives  so  lately  married 
but  would  have  betrayed  some  curiosity  as  to  the 
correspondent.  Norah  saw  nothing,  it  would  seem, 
and  suspected  nothing,  for  she  sat  down  before  the 
urn  without  a  word,  and  proceeded  to  make  tea  in 
a  somewhat  listless  manner,  now  becoming  habitual. 

"  You're  late,  my  dear,"  said  Yandeleur,  seating 
himself,  too,  and  proceeding  to  open  his  letters. 

"  Am  I  ?  "  she  replied,  absently.  '^  I'm  afraid 
I'm  very  lazy.  And  I  don't  sleep  so  well  as  I 
used.'' 


THE  HONEYMOON.  259 

It  was  true  enougli.  I  suppose  nobody  does 
sleep  well  who  is  haunted  by  a  sense  of  having 
acted  unfairly  towards  two  other  people,  and  having 
lost  at  the  same  time  all  the  hopes  once  glowing 
so  brightly  in  the  future.  Xorah's  slumbers  were 
broken,  no  doubt,  and  though 

"  The  name  she  dared  not  name  by  day" 

was  never  on  her  lips  in  her  waking  hours,  the 
phantom  of  its  owner,  with  sad,  reproachful  eyes, 
paid  her  perhaps  many  an  unwelcome  visit  in  the 
visions  of  the  night. 

She  went  on  quietly  with  her  breakfast,  taking 
no  more  notice  of  her  husband,  till  a  burst  of 
repressed  laughter  caused  her  to  look  up  astonished, 
and  she  observed  him  convulsed  with  a  merriment 
peculiar  to  himself,  that  from  some  unexplained 
cause  always  impressed  her  with  a  sense  of  fear. 

Yandeleur  had  started  slightly  when  he  opened 
the  topmost  letter  of  his  pile.  He  had  not  at  first 
recognised  the  handwriting,  so  much  had  some  dozen 
lessons  and  a  few  weeks'  painstaking  done  for  his 
correspondent,  but  the  signature  set  all  doubt  at 
rest,  while  the  matter  of  the  epistle  seemed  to  afibrd 


260  THE  WHITE  ROSE. 

food  for  considerable  mirth  and  approbation,  denoted 
by  sucb  half- spoken  expressions  as  the  following  : — 

"  Clever  girl !  "  '' How  right  I  was  ! ''  "I  said 
she  would  if  she  had  the  chance !  ^'  "  ^Yhat  an 
inconceivable  young  fool !  "  "I  know  it  !  I  know 
it  !  "  "You  deserve  as  much  again,  and  you  shall 
have  it  by  return  of  post ! " 

The  letter  was  indeed  explicit  enough.  It  ran  as 
follows  : — 

"HoxomED  Sir, — In  accordance  with  my  pro- 
mise, I  now  take  up  my  pen  to  apprise  you  that 
everything  has  been  arranged  as  I  have  reason  to 
believe  you  desired,  and  you  will  see  by  the  sig- 
nature below  that  my  earthly  happiness  is  now 
assured  and  complete.  Sir,  it  was  but  last  week  as 
I  became  the  lawful  wife  of  Mr.  Ainslie,  and  I  lose 
no  time  in  acquainting  you  with  the  same.  I  am 
indeed  a  happy  woman,  though  you  will  not  care 
to  hear  this — perhaps  will  not  believe  that  I  speak 
the  truth.  As  heaven  is  above  me,  I  declare  my 
Gerard  is  all  and  everything  I  can  wish.  Sir,  I 
w^ould  not  change  places  with  any  woman  in  the 
world. 

"He  has  met  with  a  serious  accident  in  a  fall 


THE  HONEYMOON.  261 

from  his  horse,  and  been  very  bad,  as  you  may  have 
heard,  but  is  doing  well  now,  and  with  my  nursing 
will  soon  be  strong  and  hearty  again.  We  are 
livinsr  in  lodffino^s  at  the  same  address.  Of  course 
I  have  been  put  to  considerable  expense,  particularly 
at  first,  but  I  am  aware  that  I  can  safely  trust  your 
generous  promise,  and  fulfilment  of  what  you  said 
you  would  do. 

"  Mr.  Yandeleur, — Sir, — Do  not  laugh  at  me  ;  I 
love  my  husband  very  dearly,  and  nothing  shall 
ever  come  between  us  now. 

"  Your  dutiful  and  obliged 

"  Faxxy  Ainslie." 

"  Capital !  capital !  "  exclaimed  Yandeleur  when 
he  reached  the  end.  "  Ton  my  soul,  it's  too  absurd, 
too  ludicrous  !     What  will  the  world  come  to  next?" 

"  Something  seems  to  amuse  you,^^  observed 
Norah,  quietly.  *'  If  it's  no  secret,  suppose  you 
tell  it  me — I  feel  this  morning  as  if  a  laugh  would 
do  me  good." 

"  Secret !  my  dear,"  repeated  Yandeleur.  "  It 
won't  be  a  secret  long.  Certainly  not  if  newspapers 
and  parish  registers  tell  the  truth.  It  would  seem 
incredible,  only  I  have  it  from  the   lady   herself. 


262  THE  WHITE  ROSE. 

Sucli  a  lady  !  I  should  think  she  couldn't  spell  her 
own  name  six  weeks  ago.  Would  you  believe  it, 
Norah  ?  That  young  fool,  Gerard  Ainslie,  has  been 
and  married  a  girl  you  remember  down  here,  called 
Fanny  Draper.  A  bold  tawdry  girl  who  used  to 
be  always  hanging  about  Ripley  Mill.  Here's  her 
letter  !     You  can  read  it  if  you  like  !  " 

He  looked  very  hard  at  Norah  while  he  gave  it, 
but  his  wife  never  moved  an  eyelash,  taking  it  from 
his  hand  coldly  and  impenetrably  as  if  it  had  been 
an  egg  or  a  teaspoon.  With  the  same  fixed  face 
and  impassive  manner  she  read  it  through  from 
end  to  end,  and  returned  it,  observing  only  in  a 
perfectly  unmoved  voice — 

''  I  believe  she  loves  him.  It  is  an  unfortunate 
marriage,  but  I  hope  he  will  be  happy." 

Mrs.  Yandeleur  appeared,  however,  less  amused 
than  her  husband,  nor  do  I  think  she  took  this 
opportunity  of  enjoying  the  laugh  she  thought 
would  do  her  so  much  good  on  that  cold  frosty 
morning  at  Oakover. 

END    or    VOL.  1. 


PEIKTKD  BY  VIKTUii  A^ND   CO.,  CITY   EOAJD,  LCNDCX. 


hi.* 


M^ 


